It’s past midnight under flickering fluorescent lights, and one solitary figure remains in the office – a worker so overextended that he’s literally aglow.
He sits at his desk as a human candle, flames dancing at both his head and feet. Each email sent melts him a little further into a puddle of wax on his swivel chair. Fueled by caffeine and last-ditch determination, he toils away while the office around him sleeps.
Hustle culture applauds this fiery dedication – burn the midnight oil, burn the candle at both ends, be the light in the office darkness.
But with every searing hour, the line between passion and self-immolation blurs. His coworkers call him “dedicated,” but he’s too melted to hear it.
The dark punchline looms as the flames gutter: in the crusade to shine bright, he’s burning himself down to nothing. And a candle that burns out sheds no light at all – only melted wax and a wisp of smoke.
