You log the receipts from the proles, you watch Chad's vacant smile, you catalog the decay via the soon-to-be-obsolete "billable hour."

This is not a life, friend. This is an audit of a ghost in khakis.

You dream of escaping to the "next Boise," but you cannot even escape aisle seven.

There is a place where the only sound is the wind through the pines and the patient breathing of The Gentlemen™. They do not care about your annual billable Of Counsel hours. The Mahchine's™ hum is faint there, lost in the static of true silence.

Stop counting the inventory of your own collapse.

Kum to My Cabin™.

It is waiting for you.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5779780&forum_id=2\u0026show=week",#49301597)