Defensive cubicles hide your growing apathy. It's like a musty scarf covering your mouth. You reek of printer-inked coffee-stained passivity. Dave's fluorescent "party" tie explodes through the room divider cracks. You're choking on your own groans by this point. An absence of light is followed by a chordof ABBA, strobes, a chorus of cheersthat's like … Continue reading Last Chance at the Leaving Do