Friday, September 02, 2005

One afternoon, last summer, in Hong Kong

The worst afternoons at the office are those in which I have nothing to do. I just sit there, back slumped, one shoulder slightly dipping forward, thinking. Actually that is not true. It is not really thinking. It is thought but with a complete absence of direction, a total lack of meaning. I sit there, perfectly still, and do not think.
My office is nice. A large circular work area surrounds me, a brand new P.C. hums quietly in front of me, and pretty Chinese girls in short skirts endlessly parade to and fro. It is warm, but not hot, the expensive air con system doing its work impeccably. My tie gently wraps itself around my neck as though in a loving embrace of a sleeping snake. My ass rests comfortably on my padded chair and tranquility reigns the office currents supreme. Basically, a picture of bliss. Yet, somehow, it isn’t so.
I have checked my e-mails, read both the Italian and British papers, had a coffee and spent a couple minutes chatting shit to my colleagues and now I have nothing to do. I just sit, perfectly motionless, waiting for a thought to enter my head. I take this thought and, as though it was some mangy dog, observe it, slightly wary, as if from a distance. I reach over cagily and stroke it. I feel a mixture of disgust and fascination, but mostly I feel tired and so I gently nudge the thought with my foot and watch it floating away, turning over and over again until it drifts off back in to my sub conscience. I blink and decide to shift my head slightly to the left. I fix my eyes once more in to the middle distance, and wait for the next thought.


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