“It’s kind of tough when girls do stuff like, marrying other people instead of marrying you,” I tell B**** very matter-of-factly, not really paying attention to myself, trying to find my way through the Lotus Notes e-mail assignation system, presently down since lunchtime alongside most other systems, all on the frizz this afternoon.
“What are you talking about?,” asks B****. Conversation up until this moment had been restricted to mocking the tall kid at Imports as usual.
I look at him over the workstation separator with a puzzled look on my face, then back at the screen of the notebook. “I dunno,” I say. “I was looking at our inbox, at some e-mail from this girl, from [customer company’s name], and she’s like, seems to have changed her surname from what I remember. So I just guessed she must’ve married some guy.”
“Maybe it’s a different girl with the same first name,” B**** says. “It’s not such an unusual name after all. It’s kind of common.”

I don’t say anything.
I look around the office until my eyes fall on the new girl with the bad dye job, a few desks away from mine. I finally decide she actually looks kind of common.
“Yeah, kind of common,” I say it out loud after a full couple of minutes in complete silence.
“What the hell are you talking about now?,” B**** asks me in return, thinking I was back talking to him. “You’re not making any sense.”

Up on the wall above our heads the clock marks twenty minutes to six pm.
I’m thinking of the rush-hour traffic. I’m thinking of home. I’m thinking of girls and also that I could really use a blowj*b right now.

I’m thinking of nothing special: I’m thinking of nothing at all.
The day fades to black & then into night.