Thin and bespectacled and worried, F rushes to be sure he is keeping up. What are the others doing, and when, how, what!? What is he missing, where should he be, can he keep up!? His knuckles are imprinted deep on his cheek, and his wrists ache. The collar is tight, and his hair escapes from its shield, and he looks up wide-eyed at you as it asking for reassurance. He pulls at his tie, and pushes his feet out under his desk until they hit the cubicle wall. His eyes are large as he glances sideways, slightly arcing his neck, at his coworkers, and watches them work.
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