You couldn’t pick a more melodramatic setting: by the light of a single table lamp, listening to Depeche Mode’s “Precious” on constant repeat, mulling over the events of the day and thinking of the allegorical implications of building construction.
A mite more pathetic than that character in Nick Hornby’s ‘About a boy’. That Hugh Grant whats-it vehicle. More like a moped on go-kart wheels.
Quite a bit happened in the morning which made me furious at the time, which only makes me feel sad and resigned. I’ll spare myself the details here, simply because there are none. I sat by my desk in utter incredulity. I’ve had it happen before, seen it happen before, but I couldn’t have imagined being a victim in my office.
So much the better, at least that peculiar illusion is now shattered.
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