The opportunity to see other life is potential but rare. Seeing someone means toe-stands over the partitions amidst bee whispers, during a hasty lunch in a sterile lounge, or brief exchanges at the sugar dispensing machines. A satisfying day is an awkward Q&A with the attractive intern. Monotony produces untrained conversation that can easily translate flirting into eeriness.

Open cages are lonely places. Seclusion where cruel lights and flickering screens assault eyes, where spines are distorted with feeble posture, where nothing is audible but the click of keys and occasional scurrying footsteps.

The reward for passing the five o'clock finish line is retracing the clockwork commute with the hope that an unanticipated accident might mean a day off. The evening is wasted thinking that tomorrow may yield a lawsuit in the form of a terminal paper cut, wave of untreatable depression or fax machine concussion.

Bodies continue while souls are subjugated by addictive success. Resistance is medicated by a bonus, promotion or compliment. Open cages are delicious rusty hooks.