Anybody looking at this from the outside might think that nothing much is going on. Looking, for instance, from the vantage point of one of the security cameras that sprout from the ceiling. Tiny glass-eyes that you never want to look at, because you don't want to think that someone, somewhere is watching you all day while you stumble about your life. How embarrasing.

But now. Now I don't care. They would think that nothing is going on, because of what's happening.

But they would be wrong. Because what's important is what's not happening.

What's happening is, I am sitting in the main meeting room of my floor, alone.

What's not happening is the meeting.

Everything is painted in deep red, the sun plunging just outside the window into the concrete below.

This is the only room on this floor with a window.

For the clients, you know.

So I'm here, basking in the sunset, alone.

The glass looks outside into the city, but it reflects my face. I'm thinking, this must be the most expensive mirror in the world. I'm wondering if maybe they will move the entire building with me and my reflection in it, and I won't even notice.

And I'm waiting.

I didn't see a single person when I walked on my way here. The entire floor was quiet, I could even hear the humming of the fluorescent lights. Eddie must have vanished on his way up. Ted must be grooming his suit somewhere, or socializing in the bathroom. Tony and Little Bernie may have relocated to a restaurant to continue their culinary experiments.

I've been waiting for fifteen minutes. It's thirty minutes after the time the meeting was supposed to start.

And no one's here.

This is typical. Show up on time to a meeting and no one comes. Maybe they cancelled it.

Wait a minute.

Maybe they canceled it.