The paycheck arrives with other people's names already written on it.
Rent takes its share. The subscriptions collect theirs. At the supermarket, you put something back and pretend you were reconsidering dinner. Your phone reminds you that a service you barely remember joining has renewed successfully.
At work, there is a meeting about wellbeing. You attend it during the time you meant to take for lunch.
Static Rage knows how this conversation goes. Someone starts complaining, someone makes a joke, and suddenly everyone has a story. The call that kept transferring them. The vacation days they earned and never dared to use. The raise that looked promising until they did the arithmetic.
One of them laughs too loudly. Another insists he is doing fine. A third has stopped finding it funny. The quiet one remembers exactly what everyone said before they changed the subject.
By the end of the night, the complaints have found a beat. People who arrived with separate problems are shouting the same chorus.
The charges do not stop. Even the final exit seems to require a survey.
Somewhere, there should be a receipt for all this: the hours, the deferred plans, the things paid for that never became yours.
