inmate

It is all dark outside , turn off the lights, the radio, stop the engine, pull the brake. Another day has started, press the button on the key and hear the locks on the car make their closing noises. There is still snow on the ground, snow from yesterday. Take a shortcut over the slippery grass covered slope. The building workers are hard at it, digging in the dark by the light of their machine's headlamps. Apart from the pools of light it is pitch black dark night. The feet are wet and cold, and the entrance halls dim  fluorescent lights give off a depressing yellow light.

Clock in, hold the chip under the timing device.

A voice wishes a good morning. There had been a colleague in the corner, all wrapped up against the cold with a mask against the virus. Quite unrecognisable.

Chat. She needs a print made. Ok, so that is not a problem.

The office is tidier than usual, the big printer is away, it is being repaired. It is turning into a place of boredom, now that the last five months of the inmates working life have started.

Two thousand and seven hundred days elapsed, two thousand and seven hundred postings, and all with seventy thousand visitors over the last seven years.

Thank you all, thank you for the round numbers and your perseverance.