Grey morning. It's freezing and I wake up to a deep shade of morning, damp with bluish light. In a thin white formal shirt, I reach work, earlier than anyone, to sink into my cubicle, draw the blinds back in, put on my earphones and settle into the blue and orange confines. Mail, IM, concerns, music, me.
If you want me,
you can find me
left of centre
Off of the strip
In the outskirts, and in the fringes,
In the corner, out of the grip

A girl from the team walks in and I don't notice her until she walks up to me, takes off a earphone and says good morning in my ear. I jump up, quite startled, and exchange the usual pleasantries. Busy? She asks? The answer is the usual.
When they ask me
What are you looking at?
I always answer noting much, not much
I think they know that
I'm looking at them
I think they think
I must be out of touch

Another lead signs in from home. He cannot wait until he is in office...to get to his mails, IM, concerns and music.
Him: hey you're in already?
Me: yeah, good morning!
It's not been 10 hours since I walked out and I'm in again.
We casually talk about work and he send me a link. CTS. “Do you think we'll manage to dodge it?” I laugh...looking at my hands. Black mouse, black monitor, black CPU, white shirt. If I were on a sunny beach now, I'd just unbutton this and walk around in the white spaghetti top under this, the sun on my bare shoulders. “But you know how to balance it too. Work hard, party harder!” he says. That's right too.
I think that somehow
Somewhere inside of us
We must be similarly
If not the same
“I know someone with CTS. It's not easy...yes, it's tough”, we mutually agree.
The window falls silent. I get a mail from the other side of the world and quietly read it. He must have got something like that too. Half a conversation.

When the ask me
What are you looking at?
I always answer noting much, not much
I think they know that
I'm looking at them
I think they think
I must be out of touch
But I'm only in the outskirts
And in the fringes
On the edge
And off the avenue.