Off the workdays went. At least almost. Now, when living in a sleepy Friday morning at the office, my head is empty. Trying to concentrate on tasks and articles for next week, the music from the radio just conquers my thoughts.
I now I should … I now what I shouldn’t … to think. To think him or her, to think living in a paradise. In my own paradise of beautiful dreams, forgetting the memories. But suddenly I wake up. The phone is ringing.
“Your airplane ticket for the next week has arrived at the barracks”, a doll voice tells me, without exitement, without a life. “But we are closed today. Come here on Monday.” I try to ask them to mail it for me, but “Click”. No options. No questions. I fell in my dreams again. Until afternoon, until I get away from here.
And although Portishead continues to say from the speakers “I have to get away, this is not a place for me, this is not a place to stay for my family”, I want to stay. At least for a while. At least for a short moment.
This is not an ordinary morning. This is a Friday morning. When Im coming home.