Now that I’m in my working stiff era, each morning is a dress rehearsal for my inevitable fall into eternal abyss. Every breakfast, I munch away, trying to fill the howling void inside, but each meal is consumed and eventually gone, reflecting my own sense of nothingness back to me. I drift closer to the precipice while distracting myself with an office job that doesn’t matter, a capitalist machine that makes me feel perpetually inadequate, and an inane ritual of picking out snazzy fits that project an aura of having my shit together.