The Future is NOW

The room grows hot;
the room grows cold.
the people talk,
the people type,
through broken teeth,
with banded fingers.
The manager's funny;
the manager's cool.
They talk;
they type;
shepperding waves through space
in a caffeine daze.
the manager's flashy;
the manager's bold.
They type through ambition,
they talk through lust,
some with a will,
most with a must.
The stocks they wax;
the stocks they wane.
The logos change;
the pathos remains.
They talk,
they type,
some young,
some old,
all approximately as they're told.
The room grows hot;
the room grows cold.