Midday at the Call Centre

It's now just turned midday. I am sat at work, in the office, not listening to the calls I am meant to mark. Well, I listen to them, but I don't hear them. Not when there are crosswords to do, newspapers to read, internet access, and the window to stare out of...
Still, the view outside the office window is somewhat uninspiring. A brick wall, and below the brick wall, the ramp leading down to the dismal confines of the 'smoking area'. Above the brick wall a number of modern looking residential buildings. Between these four storey apartment buildings, I can see a shop called 'Samurai'. I think it is some kind of martial arts shop.
I have just had a text from Ingrid, a friend from Austria. I am meeting her and Sarah for a coffee at the rather precise time of 3:15pm at Costa Coffee, around the corner from me.
Michelle is talking to Tom about call centre gossip, which I am actually quite interested in, but am typing here, and pretending to listen to calls I can't hear. The recent sunny, but deceptively cold weather, has been replaced by grey skies. the grey skies are unmistakeably spring-like though; wet, remniscent of other springs; my first spring in Brighton, ten years ago, walking from Hove back to Brighton, listening to Count Raven on my walkman. Worcester, those bright, damp, gloomy springs of Worcester. Days spent barely free from sleep. Unwritten essays. College reading lists lost.
The coffee machine?
I consider the veracity of the of the coffee machine. I am a bit lost without smoking. What to do to break up the working day? trips to the coffee machine are not quite the same as a cigarette break. Coffee machine.
yes, I think so.