I never was one for talking. Many people like to talk. I never understood why. I’m sure it all boils down to them likening the sound of their own voice. Why else would Henry on the 8th floor tell me about this sick mother. I had never known her or anyone by the name of Doris. So what if she had stage four cancer. I don’t truly care. As my luck would have it the awful chanting I heard from the apartment entrance. Was some convoluted demonstration. Protest are quite literally the epitome of yelling to hear your own voice. Who listens to a protest and decides that they need to change? As I navigate my way through the chaotic protest. I began to wonder if this whole demonstration just a ruse to incapacitate me. That didn’t matter though, the only thing that mattered to me. Was the work I was doing at the corporation. Of course the corporation was not without it own faults. Cindy from HR love to complain about her trivial date night prior. Or how Jeff from marketing was trying to solidify his position after a young man named Mike join the corporation.