Your dopamine swells as the likes come through.
You are just a machine intaking these notifications, transforming then into half smiles.
The clickety-clack of the keyboard echoes in the dark, while the rain drops are thumping against the window sill.
That beer is eating its way out, burning the back of your throat while calming down your anxiety.
There is nothing left, you have a function, a mere automaton doing what needs to be done, so you can eat your pack of ramens before bed.
The waltz is playing slowly in the background, a remnant of a glorious past, made for humans, where the exploitation was more blatant and harder to fight.
At least you don't have that chest pain tonight, you say to yourself while waiting for sleep to eventually come.
Tomorrow, you hope to find a sentence witty enough to earn those likes, the only thing brightening your day, while slaving away in gray cubicle.
Good luck with that.