He focuses on his nameplate. It has a title and he has earned it. He has fired the imbeciles managing his pension and now is transferring all funds to gold stocks because he is in the know. He logs off the computer, waves to his secretary, then races from the office as he is running late.
She focuses on the clock. Letters have been typed and checks mailed. Her kids wait to be fed, and she waits for her pompous boss to leave his office. He is still in there collecting overtime while surfing the net. Finally. She throws her stale coffee into the garbage can, then leaves.
He focuses on each task. His shift is short, his list too long, but he knows how to prioritize. He has done vacuuming so now he is emptying garbage cans. Some idiot has poured coffee into the wastebasket. He must change the bag, mop the spill, and make up for lost time.
They should be sleeping but instead focus on tomorrow. The day-to-day, the nitty-gritty. They finally doze off, dream of kindred spirits, imaginary lovers and pleasant times. When the alarm squawks they awake in a fog, but soon the coffee and nicotine fuels their automatic pilot and their dreams are quickly forgotten.