24 August 2004


The door opens and closes on its own, I don't know where the draft is coming from. I can't move, but after a while I begin to feel the mass of economic rhythms, seem to sense the pulse of international trade in my bloodstream. I think I'll wear the blue tie tomorrow. When I get back I need to make some kind of order out of the jumble sale on the desk before I get a bollocking. Nonsense words begin to appear on the laptop screen, scrolling up, as if invisible fingers are pressing the keys. Maybe it's my head.