[Intro]

Refresh.

Scroll.

Refresh.

Scroll.

There I am.

Almost.

[Verse]

Top row: dog. Second: the mayor.
Third: a quiz about office chairs.
I scroll past sponsored financial tips,
Past five reactions to streaming clips.
My first Harbor piece appears
Below the fold, beneath "More."
The headline says exactly what occurred—
Apparently, we've seen this done before.

[Chorus]

Page two is a graveyard,
Where the careful stories go.
No flowers and no mourners,
Just a ranking set too low.
The truth is still alive down there,
It's only getting old.

[Verse]

Frank comes over with two coffees—
One is mine and one is rage.
"They used to bury corrections.
Now," he says, "we bury the page."
I show him North Arc's company trail,
A director tied to Harbor Vale.
He reads the transcript. "Maya, this is big."
I say, "The engagement score's a total gimmick."

[Chorus]

Page two is a graveyard,
Past the weather, past the game.
Every complicated sentence
Loses oxygen and name.
Where importance learns its place,
And still can lose to a dog's face.

[Guitar Solo]

[Bridge]

I scroll. Dog update. Mayor reaction. Lunch ranking.
"Three Signs Your Manager May Secretly Hate Meetings."
I scroll. My story. Forty-one.
Frank pulls up a chair. "Then we make forty-one matter."

[Final Chorus]

Page two is a graveyard,
But the dead don't file appeals.
My sources are still breathing,
And the paper trail is real.
No traffic score can change the date
Stamped on the deal North Arc made.

So I print every page,

And cover my desk
in ghosts.

[Outro]

One invoice.

Two contracts.

Three signatures.

The double-click guitar motif
does not resolve.
