The office at six in the
evening is a different
country — quieter, and
more honest about what
the day actually was.
Dana had stayed late
because leaving felt like
admitting the pile on her
desk had won. Then an
old trick surfaced: pick
one thing, set a timer
for fifteen minutes, let
the rest wait. She
answered the hardest
email, badly and
briefly, and sent it
anyway. The pressure
didn't vanish; it just
stepped aside and made
room for her coat, her
keys, the bus window
going gold. Exhaustion is
heavier, she noticed on
the ride home, when you
carry tomorrow inside it.
Tonight, she left
tomorrow at the office,
under the exit sign's
pale glow.