I’m soaked with inspiration. It’s hard to stop and the next thing you know, it’s 4:25 in the morning. Fuck.
Chicago’s a great town and the greenhouse is a blast. We’re overwhelmed as in 90 hours of work a week when you add classes and the internship jazz. Whether it’s writing dark stories about rockstars or coming up with a story for a children’s story character, the Draft greenhouse doesn’t slow down. Ever.
We’re taken care of, we have a cubicle hub of fluorescent and confusing wall graphics. It’s nice to have a space around here because every lounge is rotated between half hour reservations. Draft does a lot of business so people are always busy. You, as the pseudo intern are only as busy as you choose to be. You can disappear underneath your desk and hibernate in the shade. True story, one of our kids laid down for an hour nap under her desk while her art director slept atop the desk. Sleep is sleep. A butthole is a butthole. Yes, we’re swamped and dominated but I’ll be damned if we aren’t having a blast while drowning slowly.
