(This is a fantasy, grounded in reality. At some points the two will diverge, but I’ll leave that to you, when it happens.
I’ll give you a hint: Not Yet.
And by the way, she knows. That I’m writing this. She think’s it’s hilarious. I think she’s hilarious.)
I have always loved secrets. Shared ones, especially. And this counts, I think. I mean, it’s not as if anybody found out. Well one person did. And now you, of course. But you won’t tell, will you?
An office, quite a few offices ago, now. The day before a bank holiday weekend. I can’t tell you which, exactly. I’m not great with dates. Faces, scents, meals, outfits, those I’m better with.
But anyway, it was that dead day before the long weekend, the place was more than half empty, and everyone who was there was resentful, counting down time until they could get out and start whatever it was they did when they weren’t on the 12th floor on this old block. Especially as it was sunny, for once. That risk, what if it doesn’t last? That feeling of wasting time.