The street sweeper has a decent work-life balance. She takes her job very seriously. She guides her broom with intent, and her gaze is directed at the ground at all times. She sweeps meticulously, almost gingerly even. There is one particular spot she pays special attention to. For over two and a half hours she does nothing but sweep this one small area. And yet, all the effort doesn’t lead to any visible changes. No matter how diligently she sweeps, the sidewalk remains dusty and full of dried mud.

[…] Does the launderess dream of her desires, of the things she might see or become? Does she work this hard because she believes it is her job that will emancipate her? Turn her dreams into reality, some day, at the terminal station of her infinite loop of labor performance?