Thread regarding University of Phoenix layoffs

against the walls of the halls of the RPDC. I walk, looking for others. The break room is barren, a spider has made its home in the popcorn machine. I round the ITOC. Black. But there are sounds. Unnatural sounds, rising and falling, mournful sounds. I want to see them, meet with them. It doesn't matter. Resource Scheduler shows every conference room booked with indefinitely repeating meetings. Reservations made by the dead. No one can clear them. No one can meet. Somewhere in the 10 story I hear the guttural roars of executives. That shouldn't be. I don't hear them. I feel them reverberating in the bones like the noise you feel when trying to nap with your head against an airplane window. A cube wall falls onto the carpet tiles, but doesn't make a sound. There are no more sounds. No more phones ringing. No more people. None. And in his house on Riverpoint Parkway Greg Cappelli lays dreaming.