β’.β’.β’. In β’.β’.β’. cubicles we β’.β’.β’. simulate A broken β’.β’.β’. wall, a city state β’.β’.β’. We're lost in files, β’.β’.β’. we've seen β’.β’.β’. this place before.
.β’.β’.β’ All the literate .β’.β’.β’ small talk .β’.β’.β’ keeps us sane. .β’.β’.β’ We work by the .β’.β’.β’ windows. Feels .β’.β’.β’ soft where .β’.β’.β’ the wind blows.
βββββββββββββββββ She/they | Call me Sixx. Everything is lit, except my serotonin. βββββββββββββββββ