A wedding, an eightieth birthday, work conference, work conference. No jeans for four days. No trainers. You’re not coming in, no jeans, no trainers, you’re not coming in. Now back to the office. Desk bound work. The sun has gone in again. Dull grey clouds lower the ceiling of the sky. Portentous weather. The office is empty. Oh, no, untrue, the work experience person, in already. Unpaid, too keen. Or desperate. I look out the window, the clouds draw my attention again, I can’t see the street. People begin to stroll in to the office. Colleagues that sit far away from me, that I don’t know. One walks past, two, three, I know the fourth, not the fifth. There’s a thirty second break between each one, a walking metronome, each beat walking the same path each morning, repeating the same actions. Pull out earphones, wrap cable, open bag, close bag, don’t stop walking. The wedding made me afraid of marriage, the birthday made me afraid of old age. Each a commitment to a lifetime. I’m sitting at my desk, my hands rest on the keyboard, my fingers spread on the keys. The AC hums behind me. I stare at the screen. My fingers don’t move. I don’t move. I stare ahead and don’t see.