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You come to work every day but you hardly get to know anyone. I don’t even know the names of half the people I see in the elevators. They say the company is a big family, but I don’t know them. And even the people I do, like you two, and Elizabeth, and Roger – do I really? I mean, I like you guys, but we only ever talk about work. When I’m out with friends, or at home, I never talk about work. The other day, I tried to explain to my sister why it’s such a huge deal that Elizabeth ate Roger’s donut, and she thought I was insane. And you know what, I agreed with her. At home I couldn’t even think why it mattered. Because I’m a different person at home. When I leave this place at night, I can feel myself changing. Like shifting gears in my head. And you guys don’t know that; you just know what I’m like here, which is terrible, because I think I’m better away from work. I don’t even like who I am here. Is that just me? Or is everyone different when they come to work? If they are, then what are they really like? How can we ever know? All we know are the Work People.
