nocut

2:48 a.m...

My office is completely empty. The security guard keeps circling, vulture-like. The whirring of the table-top fans reminds me of the desert wind in Mad Max. I should be thinking of sleep, or beer, or the future. I'm not.

It's funny. I've been coming to SG nearly every day, but I haven't looked at a set for weeks. I check the boards, say hello in my groups, maybe write an email or two to friends...

One of the computers in the office goes tick, tick, tick every couple of minutes. There's a piece of paper faux-crinkling in the path of a fan. A maintenance person is changing flourescent lightbulbs in the newsroom. I can see him through the door.

There's a sticker on my monitor that reads: "DOS rules." It doesn't, really.

Tick, tick, tick.

There are no windows in my concrete bunker. It could be 4 a.m., or 4 p.m., winter or summer, and I wouldn't know any different. Maybe that's why I never seem to get tired at work. Just... indifferent. The 'msg waiting' button flashes on my phone, but the whole world must be sleeping by now. I'm not answering it.

Tick, tick, tick.

I'm going to look at some boobies now. Sleep tight, Don't let the bed-bugs bite.

--nocut