The advantage of your own office, Jerome reflected as he left it, was that you didn’t have to share it with anyone who might notice how much work you were doing at any given moment. That you’d finished as much of your current projects as you possibly could for the day (at least until the database engineers got back to him with the documentation he’d requested) and were basically making yourself meaningless busywork to keep yourself occupied.
Or that you’d decided to have an early lunchbreak and gone to the park. Unless something urgent came up (and Jerome doubted that it would, not with half the directors in Brisbane until the end of the week), even if someone came to his office looking for him, it was doubtful that Jerome’s presence would be important enough that he’d be missed.
So he straightened his tie, took a random leather folder, arranged his face in the manner of someone on his way to somewhere important, and walked briskly through the lobby and out of the building. And went to the park.
Four blocks away, the park was still in the shade of office towers at this time in the morning and therefore a bit chilly, but it was nonetheless alive with human activity – people jogging, reading books on the grass, doing Tai Chi, or just enjoying the relatively quiet goings-on of the open space. Jerome saw a woman that he recognised near the fountain – not somebody from the office, that would have been irritating enough to ruin his simple enjoyment of the morning, but somebody that he had worked with in the past. It was highly unlikely that any of Jerome’s fellowship would ever talk about their shared work in a public place, but nonetheless Jerome’s forehead crinkled with distaste.
Jerome didn’t like his work to intrude upon these moments of escape. Bad enough that he never really got to enjoy a normal weekend. Jerome turned the other way and walked counter clockwise around the border of the park, before she saw and recognised him, and stopped only when he passed a newspaper kiosk. Feeling a bit neglectful, Jerome gave a couple of coins to a politely smiling woman at the kiosk and took a newspaper. He might as well make a token attempt at being conscientious.
The city broadsheet was always awkward to read while walking, but much better suited for his purposes. Jerome scanned the world news, not really looking for anything. If something important had happened overseas then he’d be made aware of it well before the signs became newsworthy. The local news held much more of interest to Jerome, with its sordid crimes, controversies, and political scandals occurring much as expected. The reassuring patterns and schedules of a nation, obvious when you knew how to look for them.
A small note in the personals. Obviously not intended for him, but something that he’d have to look into later. Jerome made a mental note of the telephone number listed and left his newspaper on a nearby bench. He didn’t bother to check his horoscope.
A late morning sun was beginning to peer from behind the surrounding buildings, causing the cool shadows of the park to begin their retreat. Jerome’s favourite outdoors café looked particularly enticing, with a sun-splashed table now cleared of the last customer’s clutter that fairly begged his attention. Jerome relaxed into the plastic chair and turned his regard to people enjoying the park nearby. A couple of students, yet more joggers hastening past in their endless pursuit of an ideal body, a bronzed young woman who appeared likely to shed some of her unnecessary clothing once the air became warmer, and a man with a guitar.
Jerome was interested in observing the young lady from behind his sunglasses as she stretched out promisingly on a blanket, but his eyes kept returning to the busker. He looked like a homeless man – multiple layers of shabby clothing, hair shaved off savagely, and that subtle yet palpable demeanour that caused passers-by to uncomfortably shift their eyes away rather than meet his gaze. And yet, the busker had a guitar that had obviously seen some care, he wasn’t wearing defeat and despair like a cloak, and he didn’t look too filthy.
Jerome hesitated, then beckoned the waiter to his table. He purchased two sets of sandwiches, two cold drinks. Jerome rarely bought lunch just for himself. Although he enjoyed getting away from the people he worked for from time to time, not to mention his supposed employers, Jerome hated to eat alone. So he’d made it a habit to buy lunch for a stranger. Generally Jerome chose a homeless person in the park who didn’t look too crazy or unpleasant to the senses. It made Jerome feel good, these small acts of charity. Like he was able to make a small difference in the life of someone he’d never meet again, as well as the obviously more important work that he did. Change a life as well as work towards changing the world.
With a moment of regret as he thought of the bronzed Amazon (who was now removing one of her jumpers), Jerome waved at the guitar-player to catch his attention. He smiled warmly, indicated the food that had been brought to him, and waved the man over.
And suddenly loud thunderous words fill my head, his lips not moving…