6 months and no word of the outside world, no crumble of hope to be seen. I have filed down one link on the chain that binds me to my desk and cube—90 until I reach my freedom. I entered this agreement a young and vivacious man, and now all I have left are the remnants of my bitter, futilitarian, broken mind. At first, my rambunctious nature stirred my dead, ghostly feelings, but now I am left with neither faith nor fancy–no promise or endurance or reward. And as the last particles of emotion seep from my decaying soul, I wonder, Diary: will Water Street be the death of me?
–Cindy Michael Capleton
Drifting through the futilitarian flood of rambunctious youth, straight-faced nobodies, and unexpressive sleepwalkers, I stay afloat only by the sound of distant singers in my headphones, saving my deciduous brain from drowning.
I, Danny the Dolphin, do solemnly swear that I will control myself from this point on. I will channel my rambunctious energy into more useful pursuits, and I plan to lay the groundwork for deeper, more meaningful relationships with lady dolphins. And men dolphins. You that judge me may believe my attempt to embrace a new, less violent worldview is silly, futilitarian, even false. But as surely as the leaves of deciduous trees turn from green to red to orange and yellow, I too am capable of change. Maybe.