It’s raining outside, I think. I can’t tell.When I got out of my car this morning, it was raining.
When I slid my key card and entered the building, it was raining.
When I walked down the hallway, it was raining. I watched the droplets collect in a trash bin.
When I sat at my desk, logged on, and clocked in, it was raining. I could hear it pounding on the tin roof.
When I looked out the window near the office door, it was sunny. The pavement was dry, no cloud in the sky.
There was no window yesterday.
Or, at least, I don’t remember seeing a window yesterday. Now that I think of it, I don’t remember ever seeing a window in our office. Is it possible that I simply missed it–and have been missing it for the last three months? Is it possible that some piece of furniture or some computer screen may have been blocking it from my line of sight? Is it possible that maintenance may have installed a window after I left last night?
If either were the case, the view would show the adjacent wall beyond our office, not the parking lot outside.
And I can still hear the rain pounding on the tin roof.
I’ll watch the window closely for now. It’s nice, having a desk with a view.
Like what you read? There’s more.
“Morning coffee” is a serial fiction series, served fresh daily. So far, we’ve covered rubberneckers, co-workers, cubicle stains, office plants, desk trophies, conspiracies, secret organizations, pocket dimensions, black holes, and impending, inevitable doom. And that’s just the beginning.
Where should we go next? Let me know in the comment section below.