I move to the office window, and peer down at the street. It is a conduit of people, swearing, hooting and whistling. My mind is murky from work, and the scene outside seems slightly uncomfortable and incomprehensible. The pavements bristle with groups of men who yell and roar, and laugh.  Girls walk in front of cars, and cars honk, making the girls squeal with excitement. Others, quieter more subdued, gather infront of food vendors, watching  - waiting. I am a  featureless gargoyle trapped in a fluorescent lit square, pasted in the night sky unseen by the swarm below.

The routine of leaving the office anesthetises my imagination;  Its a pleasingly tactile sequence. When I rearm the lock on the keypad it beeps back at me with gratitude. When I swipe my magnetic disk on the elevator controls, it gives me permission with a perky note. When I select the ground level, the lift acknowledges with a low click - and hums as it lowers me down. I press the button to open the door to the street, an unseen lock clicks and a soft hiss of air serenades me outside to the sidestreet. I look around. I half expect some drunken skinhead to start yelling at me - but nobody takes any heed of me. I hoist my laptop bag and head toward the main strip.

RATE THIS BRANCH!