“And once again, as the weeks pass by, we see Wednesday for what it is; Another day in the field needed to be crossed to achieve some sort of victory.”

At least, that is what the person thought as they stared out the window, hoping that soon, one day, all this tedium of endless paperwork that leads only to more procrastination instead of any real action could only come to some sort of end that was sudden and unsuspected, potentially throwing the whole office into disarray and panic.

But that time was not to come for a while, if ever, and pointless work needed to be done.

And yet, despite all their trying to force themselves to do so, they could not help but continue to stare out the window, down onto the streets below, seeing the outside world beyond them and desperately looking for a way out that would not require them to be courageous beyond the completely minuscule and token, for they were a dreamer and not someone who felt that they had any authority to take charge in any way, shape, or form.

They slowly looked upwards, at the building across from them and saw someone else doing the same thing.

“Someone else doing the same time within a short distance of me. I wonder how many other people within the vicinity do the same thing”, they thought as they began to idly chew on a pen, whilst still killing time before they had to buckle down and rush through every thing, lest someone noticed that they had stopped working for a long time.

They then noticed that the person was staring at them, probably thinking the same thing.

Probably.

They decided to wave at the person in the building, to see if any form of a meaningful gesture could be received in kind.

The person waved back.

It was hard to tell, but they were pretty certain that a smile was on the person’s face.

A sign went up, followed by one from the person.

A slow, but invested exchange went on for a few minutes before the person decided that it was all a bit silly and cliché, so they requested an easier method of contact.

Soon the conversation speed picked up and an impassioned exchange about the tedium of their positions sprang forth.

Eventually work finished and the conversation drew to a close.

The person began to make their way home, slowly filtering their way through people to the nearest train they could catch.

Once home, they felt as though they were bound to that office, slowly being pulled back to it every working day, almost as though they did not have a choice in the matter.

But they were able to have a conversation for the first time in a long time, and it at least made part of their working day more enjoyable than it had any right to be.

Perhaps, at work, they had something to look forward to again.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 11:49:01

Slower than I hoped, but such is the way of things.

Anyway, probably could have done a better job writing it.

Also, they can filter through people. Not past them. Through them.

I need to remember to not read what I write.

Written at work.