A dispute about keys to …blip in The Centre of Innovation.
‘Sorry – we’re closed…’
Then the estate agent returns a call at the last moment and grants me the keys.
A serious man of business leaves – no tie.
Undone top button of white shirt.
He drives past in a silver Mercedes.
Birds sing within the trees of innovation.
The office manager says something about reversing his car.
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I’m waiting on Genesis Way in my car.
The sun is blinding my eyes as I recall passive stares from the shirtless fishers by the lake.
A gentle sadness…
The obligatory fountain has stopped.
The Haiths bird food hopper is on repeat.
A perpetual hum of productivity…
Origin Way. Summer. June. 17.20 hours. Friday evening.
A perpetual backdrop of scowling traffic ebbed and flowed along its A180 tributary.
The latest intake of notional students lolled around on the red sun-baked paving of Origin Way.
Europarc nine to fivers began exiting the site for a weekend of prescribed leisure whilst security guards, process workers and cleaning operatives remained in situ.
X registered a moment of sublimation as a crow hopped from one lamp post to the next.
The lights transformed from dim grey glow to an illuminated orange as the fowl of the air landed upon each pedestal.
A dyed blonde-haired woman in her early thirties drove past.
She lit a post-work cigarette upon exiting Origin Way.
X lurked among the carefully tended shrubbery – it’s gaze gently resting upon an empty glass balancing on a steel bollard.
The fresh-faced students continued to bathe in a collective subconscious haze.
X was bathed in an orange hue as it loitered under a lamp outside the Innova Centre – Vaconsoft Parkway.
It observed as the lights went out within the platinum enveloped building. A silhouette of a cleaner donning blue overalls moved around the staircase activated the sensors. She disappeared into another room.
X shivered in the car park below.
A male figure, perhaps a security guard looked into the distance from the third floor.
The cleaner re-appeared holding a mop and bucket.
a bearded guy in his late 20′s/early 30′s left via the front entrance.
The starlings tailed the traffic along the distant freeway.
A track suited balding guy in his fifties walked across the emptying car park clutching a white box.
A figure waving from the entrance of the Innova Centre – the cleaner. She was polishing the windows with vigour.
Unnoticed, X returned the gesture and waved back at her.
The cleaner picked up her mop with bucket and faded into the Innova darkness.
X rested by a bench down by the virtual lake. It homed in on the kitchen area of the Origin Two building. Person A: ‘You know wot…sometimes you’ve just gotta let ‘em get on with it…when she relapses…I only know one side of it…’