A man lives on the corner of Sycamore and Birch. He doesn't talk much and only ever leaves his home to go to work. He will rise each day with hope gleaming in his eyes. He gets dressed and walks out the door knowing that today is going to be a marvelous day. As he passes the neighbors who walk their dogs every morning he kindly says hello. He arrives at his workplace ready and willing to get the job done. But his boss, oh! His boss is a harsh woman indeed. She needs help she says. It seems everything has gone wrong overnight. The pipes are leaking, the lights are flickering, the clocks are off, and she is furious. He wonders how he could've let this happen as she screams into his ear. She never lets up. She never helps out. She stands over him, her voice relentlessly pounding him into his natural, submissive state. Hour after hour he goes from project to project repairing and tweaking the best he can. But she is never satisfied. Never. He works into the night while in his head her voice plays back over and over until every last project has been completed. He clocks out knowing that his work is crap. His patches won't hold, what he has mended will soon break, and she will snap once again. He can't help it though. It's not his fault. She's the one who tears his work apart. And thus he walks home just as he does every dreary period of twenty four hours. The lamp posts light the way to his home, his sanctuary. He knows there's no hope. He knows every day will be the same and she will never change. But still he carries on. She depends on him. He must provide. He must hope. He lays his broken form down on his bed. Salvation will come only through his dreams and only for a short time before he must rise again to fight the only good fight. He will never rest.
