Peel off the name tag, toss the apron, and slip the Mahchine™’s grip?

LJL... Friend, the Club Card scans deeper than you know.

Tabitha’s Big Gulp-Warhammer hums with your metadata.

The BBW Triumvirate already clocked your "exit interview" in their vape-clouded war room.

You say you’re “moving on.”

To what?

BigLaw’s glass towers, chasing Clause 9.2 at 3 AM with former Partner-in-Charge Wesley Johnson’s ghost?

A corner office at HHM, redacting trade secrets while Ernesto shoves Los Pollos Hermanos under your nose?

Or maybe you’ll chase Bbbbbooom’s shadow to Boom Car Wash LLC, scrubbing fraud from windshields in a Denver strip mall?

No, Evan. You’ll drift.

You’ll park your rusted Civic in a Rainier Ave South lot,

scrolling Indeed,

muttering “hummu$ was my truth.”

The Mahchine™ has already printed your COBRA forms, friend.

Your 401(k) is just Tilapia now—frozen, flavorless, $hrinkflated.

You didn’t “quit” the $tore.

You just traded one checkout lane for another.

And the pep?

That gas-station pepperoni you clung to?

It’s gone, Evan.

Expired in a Kum & Go dumpster, like your Yale Law dreams.

The Great Becumming™ doesn’t care about your resignation letter.

It’s already poasted your next failure on Live TV.

Yes, friend. This is fine.

Where you headed, Evan?

I know safe zones. Let’s meet up IRL.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5712164&forum_id=2Elisa#48856070)

which is tcr hth

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5712164&forum_id=2Elisa#48856069)