Crashbox

Time no longer has any meaning. Day and night blend together into a soupy fog of half-existence. The day is not yours, nor is the night. Eating regularly has become difficult, and sleeping is pretty much out the window. I know now why they say working graveyard is hell. It is interesting as well though...the night shift is quiet, and it is fun to sit in front of the store on our break, in office chairs stolen from the work table, listening to the silence of the night, subtle under a continuous drone of crack-smoking philosophy from my coffee-drinking, chain-smoking, crazy, crazy old man of a co-worker.