He looked outside. Now this was a life! Nothing but trees and birds if you look through the north windows and so much boredom made of concrete on the south side you'd rather not describe it. He sighed. Lucky were the ones whose houses were surrounded by blossoming life. By busy streets and the humming noise of rush hour city traffic. The ones who could hear their neighbours blasting great music from their flats, music that promised the world; the ones who saw colours and flashing lights 24/7.
For a few minutes he allowed himself to imagine being one of them, till Reality cleared its throat politely and tapped him on the shoulder. "Coming," he mumbled as to someone calling him and returned to going through the latest bills on his desk. Reality nodded benevolently and went away to take care of another dreamer.
As soon as he felt that he was alone, he stopped taking notes and writing down numbers, but started singing softly: "Winding your way down on Baker Street..."
...Surely the people he envied had his own problems, didn't they?
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ReplyDeleteIch habe mir früher öfter mal gewünscht, in der Haut eines anderen zu stecken, aber heute nicht mehr. Und genau, wer sagt denn, dass diese Menschen nicht genauso ihre Probleme haben?