Some might say that I am bad with plants. For a time, I just thought plants hated me. But after some good heart-to-hearts, I discovered: they just hate being inside. The term "Indoor plants" is really nothing more than a conspiracy, an effort to cover up something I'm sure.

And I get it, because being locked inside all these hours, on the 38th floor, sometimes I feel just like them. If I had leaves, I'd throw them on the ground. And I do in fact go lay across my sister's desk from time to time, mimicking the plants that sit dreamily in her window... hoping for the hour that they too might feel the gentle breeze and smell the fresh air.

If you ever visit LLF, please do not comment on all the slowly dying plants (they're sensitive).