“Why?” I asked, blowing on my coffee.
“Everyone looks so miserable.”
“And you help them,” I say. “Right? You help them face the day.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” it says. “I provide a drug that helps them cope with the pain of being human.”
“Which helps them on Monday. Which is why you like Mondays?”
“They need me more. They’re more helpless. More helpless than normal. I don’t like my job, normally, but when they need me, it’s almost Ok.”