THE HARD RATTLE OF THE SCANNING CHIP

Dear Delyara, The automated logging device gives off a flat, high-pitched beep as I press it against the small plastic RFID disc bolted to the brickwork of the old substation. Every sixty minutes, without exception, I have to walk this exact path, registering my presence at ten distinct coordinates to prove to a corporate algorithm that I am performing my duties. It is a clinical, calculated humiliation for someone who holds an advanced degree in business management to have their physical steps managed by an automated tracking script. I am walking this loop with a completely straight spine, holding the plastic device lightly, reminding myself that every single scan is just a discrete transaction of time to finance a legacy that will pull me away from these brick walls forever.