1:33 is about where I would pick up a can from the floor, take the want-ads from the breakroom, and head for my car.
That hands in pocket, long look back is the universal sign for, "Well, I've just realized I'm boned."
What a waste of beer.
That man should be forced to pick up every single can he spilled.
Between his ass cheeks.
After they've been wrapped in barbed wire.
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