It was another tiresome day for Stanley. The boss, again, had asked him to complete an essay about his boring life to publish for his poor co-workers to stare and drool at. He had already finished the part about his boss' life, and all that remained was the part where Stanley could describe him as a corrupt fascist third world dictator. But Stanley knew better. Taking his pills, he drank the substance and threw the disposable cup towards the tiny bin. The cup missed the bin, hitting his cat, which ran howling. Tomorrow, the boss would pay.
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