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2027.

The world is now too complicated for managers, or even for teams of managers. The only way to survive is breakfast alcohol, finger bandages, and videocall filters that hide the gritted teeth and the slow tears. Nothing is understood, but everything is on fire. The only laughter is consolatory at best, but mostly just sarcastic. Dreams are on repeat, twisting like seas storms.

Friday comes. Nobody celebrates.

Except for the cats.

Always the cats.