at eleven there is a phone call in the office, an end to the solitary nature of the confinement there. The woman who is going to pick up the prints of her photographs is on the line, saying that she will be delayed.
This means that the lunch break is to be delayed too.
The morning had been editing the pictures taken at the building site last Friday, there is no interest in these pictures by any person, least of all by the official who had ordered them. They were just ordered as an idea, the idea has been forgotten. But the pictures will be made anyway, until the order is rescinded, or the photographer pensioned, whichever is the sooner.
It will most likely be the pension, the pictures are just an idea.
The woman arrives, and picks up her two packages of prints. She does not bother to check them. Then walk over to the café with her, her being late has left it too late to eat so that is that, let her pay for the two cups of coffee.
It is all her fault.
Return to the office, talk to two mechanics on the way. They are spending their break playing pool, at a small table set up for the students. They usually play well, but with the new spectator, they play badly.
Talk to the two masters about a celebration.
Next year, a celebration to end the thirty years of working in the university.
Working hard when required, and wasting time for clueless superiors, people so sure of their merits.
Outside the office, the building site. Much of the area has been cleared now, and enormous machines, huge tracked vehicles transport their thirty metre tall drills. They will make holes in the ground, all the way to the bedrock, to support the building that will take place there.
Next year.
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