It’s hard to get angry where I work.
As soon as you walk in the door, a sentient cloud of olfactory satisfaction weaves it’s way into your nasal cavities, each thread of your clothing, strand of hair, down to your spirit. There are singing bowls being meticulously balanced and played, the slip-and-plop of book pages being perused and the occasional gasp or tone of wonderment as someone discovers something they may have never heard of before; Ideas that harmonize so perfectly with the song their heart is and has always been singing that it can’t help but eek it’s way out the only way it knows how.
No, I’d like to think that in the scope of things, I am at least well within the “Well, you smell the part.” portion of the Dalai Lama waiting-list (Which comes just above “All of the Buddhists on earth have instantaneously attained nirvana…
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