Random ramblings in Chacos.

“I wish I could feel the ground moving under my feet,” the man thought to himself, gazing lovingly outside the half-drawn shaded window.  The room felt cold, uninviting and menacing, seeing the stacks of paper occupying what once was visible desk space.  The man simply wanted to soar out the window, and fly to no points of return.  To experience the freedom of the Western wind gracing his sun-drenched locks with wavy symmetry.

He turns to watch the incessant blinking of a cursor.  His cursor.  He felt the cursor personified to more of a representative of his perceived vision of its namesake.  Constantly criticizing, constantly mocking the blank his mind spent the last half-hour illustrating.  The task at hand was simple.  “Work on the greater good,” the words echoed through his mind of what his superior bequeathed to him upon leaving for the day.  The “greater good,” he thought to himself, simply meant greater profits in their eyes.  And to which is the bottom line drawn?  To accurately put food on the table, or to lay the boundary for an underling to dare cross?

“I wish I could feel the ground moving under my feet,” he thought to himself.  Spinning the chair around to which brick, window, wall, and desk blend to a blur…and stopping to test the dexterity of his standing.  Three clocks appear on the wall, moving in a way kaleidoscopes imply.  4:27 pm…won’t be long now.

The coast beckons…or it is the promise of endless summer, of people working on their tan lines and pick up lines and running times and drunken rhymes.  He can feel the sunlight tickle his face, the breeze running through gull wings as they seek another meal.

“I wish I could feel the ground moving under my feet,” the man thinks to himself.  4:31 pm.  Only a couple of hours to go…