I have a job at an office.  I like the people I work with most of the time, and I do my job well.  I even get to use my brain at work occasionally. However, mostly, I think about what I will eat next, and when I will leave.  My job is in an office in business park on a dead end street full of similar old, brown office buildings.  It’s in a part of town with many lanes of traffic and no pedestrians.  It is full of chain restaurants and office buildings.  The only grass within walking distance is speckled with smooth granite gravestones adorned with sad tinsel draped Christmas trees each January.

Sometimes, I go for walks, or drives, seeking solace from the burn of florescent lights.  Mostly, I seek fresh air and distraction.  Usually, something mildly exciting happens to me each day during my lunch hour.  Sometimes, nothing happens at all.  Here is the riveting account of what occurs each day during the one hour when I flee the brown cement walls of my office building and seek adventure in what may be the dreariest strip of road in the city where I live.


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