It is really quiet. Even the climate-control system has shut down. There is only the low drone of the idle copy machine.
The regular tarry-ers have all left. I'm all alone.
The last remnant of gold is fading in the west window. Below the melting horizon, flickering car headlights resemble fireflies as the working folk flutter homeward.
The scene in the west window stands in stark contrast to the field of fluorescent lights hovering overhead. They line up in a regimental matrix, keeping watch like sentries.
The south window projects a different picture. There is a lone streetlamp, inadequately illuminating the parking lot. Through the electric blue tint I can see that only five cars remain.
One is mine.
I should go home.
But I won't.
Not yet.
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3 comments:
Great picture you painted, Nick! Why didn't you want to go home?
I was writing some stuff and didn't have to be anywhere until about 7:00. So I just stuck around and wrote and this little bit just happened, so I wrote about it, too.
Oh, ok. It turned out well!
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