Monday, September 27, 2004
That time again
It's that time of the day when you're glad your work is over, and you're itching to walk out those doors that signify the word 'office' in your brain, and yet you have not the slightest clue to your itinerary once you do cross that threshold. Think of it as something out of those deep, dark, sinister fairy tales where you have this portal to go through, and that will decide your destiny. Very much Tolkien, liberally diced with John Woo in the wok bowl.
So it's that time of day when Sharon peeps over onto the nosiy place called 'Desk' (mothership calling earth; come in earth, come in..) and then asks in her wan voice: 'Can we leave?' Yes, Sharonica, we can, I can, you can, but I'm still sitting here, behind my desk, simultaneously chatting with someone I met for a drink at one point of time in the past, and also typing (click! clack!) on this blog entry.
So the conversation goes like this: So hey, are you out there tonight? Naaaa - too LS for my taste, you shouldn't go either. I'm too broke, anyway.
Story of my life, screams the critic, and the curtains come down.
But the beat goes on, da da da da da dum... So it's that time of the day when I hunt out the closing rupee rates, and head home. After buying a dustbin for the flat, reminds mother goose.
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