I don't know, maybe I'll write this up in my LJ later.

The canteen is abnormally warm today, and I'm sitting here practically melting, watching the sweat drip down the faces of my co-workers as they read their newspapers and eat their chocolate bars.

One woman is nursing a cup of coffee, taking her time and slowly rubbing her temple with her right hand. The smokers huddle together in their little area, talking lightly or ignoring the world around them, the little room filling with smoke as they pull on the fags with expressions akin to sublime pleasure.

I see the store manager through the large window, walking across the car park, shading his eyes as he looks up at the building. From this angle you can see how pronounced his hair loss really is.

The woman nursing her coffee covers her mouth as if in pain as she reads the article in the paper. I wonder, briefly, what she is reading.

One of the smokers, seen through the glass wall, holds her almost spent fag tightly in crooked fingers before her gleaming temple, listening to nothing. She gets up to leave, giving me a fleeting glimpse of the dolphin tattoo on her right ankle.

Everyone carries a pen, everyone has a name tag and everyone looks haggard as they rest between shifts.

I can't help but wonder why the decorators thought bland images of perfect beaches with toy sun-shades and clear blue water were a good idea. The yellow and blue walls, while nicely cool and easily ignored, appear completely out of balance with the whole situation. Too bright and falsely cheerful, in stark contrast to the glum faces around me.