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世界上没有伟大的办公室文学。大部分的作家不是拒绝上班,厌恶上班,就是压根儿瞧不起上班这件事情。他们可以同情堕落的妓女,与滥嗑药品的醉鬼共鸣,对失去理想性格的政客感到好奇;即便过着优渥的布尔乔亚的生活,他们还是能写出歌颂广大农民工人的美丽诗篇。唯有遇上了灰色单调的现代办公室,看见一大群中午时间从各个大楼涌出来进食的制服乌鸦,听见那些人谈论房屋贷款和休假规划的对话,他们的想象力只能一片空白。
There is no great office literature in the world. Most writers do not refuse to go to work or hate work, they simply do not look down on work. They can sympathize with the fallen prostitutes, resonate with the drug-savoring ghosts, are curious about the politicians who have lost their ideal character, and, despite the graceful life of Bourjoat, can write beautiful poems that sing the tribes of migrant workers. Only in the gray, monotonous modern office saw a large group of crows crowding at noon from various buildings eating in uniforms and hearing that those conversations about housing loans and vacation planning had only a glimmer of imagination.