the desk remains there, and the hills of unfinished works dominates the landscape of the cubical. sub directorate one is where i perform my daily routines now, and it is offering me treats of old jobs in new faces: never ending news that penetrate the time. anyone who occupies the seat must feel the heat. be prepared for sudden exams without prior lectures. papers, talking points, speeches and reports are but a few assignments to be consumed along with 'teh tarik' and black coffee.
these days the emmisaries, the extraordinary and the plenipotentiary ones, are flocking home. down there sharing a table with the head of state. i too share a table in my cubical, with colleagues like donna-donna-donna (yes like the song goes).
eight pm something, and soon the light will be switched off.