So what have we accomplished today? I ask X when I get home from work. I don’t know, I say, slumping down on the sofa. What’s our real work? I ask after a while. Something’s overdue, I say, I can feel it, we’ve missed some crucial deadline and I can’t remember when it was or what I was supposed to do, I only know a judgement’s coming down on us, like in a nightmare. Only from this nightmare there’s no waking up, and it’s only going to get worse unless we… unless we what? I say. What’s our real work? I say.


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