[ WP ] Just a guy seated at a desk .

James Randolph Thatcher sat at his desk. He was a typist for the local magistrate, translating court decisions from the chicken scratch that was the magistrate's handwriting into electronic documents to be processed. 
 
 His watch read 8:13 am. He sighed. It had only been 13 minutes since his workday began, and already he was bored. He hated this job. 
 
 His passion in life had been physical education. He wanted to be an elementary school P.E. teacher. However, his father was a lawyer, and his grandfather a government representative. His education was going to be paid for only if he followed the family footsteps. Which led him here, to this large oak desk, with a single monitor in front of him, a blinking cursor reminding him that with each passing second, he still had pages and pages to transcribe. 
 
 James looked at his watch again. 8:14 am. He sighed. His gaze went past his watch to his belly. When his hopes of becoming a physical education teacher had been dashed, he had let himself go. At almost 50 now, he regretted it. He had n't been on a date in years. He could n't see his feet in the shower. His knees ached, his back ached, and his shoulders were rounded from years at a desk. 
 
 8:15 am. He sighed and looked at his monitor. Willing himself to find motivation, he began to type. He was a fast typist. That was his only real visible skill. He was not a materialistic man, and vanity never suited him. To look at him, he could very well be a librarian, or a bus driver. However, his typing skills had always made him feel accomplished. 
 
 8:16 am. 125 words later, he paused. The glass of water on his desk had begun to form condensation. James leaned back in his chair, the groan of the seat protesting, and he watched a droplet slide down the glass. He glanced at his watch, noting the position of the second hand. He then watched the droplet slow and stop just above the desk. 
 
 He waited. Finally, a smaller droplet formed above the first one. It followed the same path, colliding with the original droplet. The added weight must have been too much. James watched the water droplet fall and splash on the oak, disappearing into the water ring now several years in the making. 
 
 45 seconds. It was 8:17 am. James rubbed his eyes, sat up in his chair, cracked his knuckles, and poised his fingers. 
 
 He hated his fingers. They were fat, and shorter than they should have been on his hand. He turned his hands over and looked at his palms. Soft from years of zero manual labor, they were also very pale. And somewhat clammy. 
 
 He rubbed his hands on his pants to dry them. He glanced at his watch. 8:18 am. He moved his hands back to the keyboard, and began to type. 
 
 250 words later, he looked at his watch. 8:20 am. 
 
 Suddenly, a knock sounded from the doorjam. He turned, and saw his co-worker Susan standing in the door way. 
 
 `` James? Fancy a coffee?'' she smiled. James sensed she liked him. They had both been there for years. 
 
 `` No, thank you Susan.'' He smiled. 
 
 She smiled even bigger, her eyes narrowing. 
 
 `` Too much work today?'' 
 
 His smile faded. He nodded. 
 
 `` Yes, quite a bit to catch up on. Maybe tomorrow.'' 
 
 He turned, and heard her pause at the door before leaving. 
 
 The cursor blinked at him. One day, he would get a coffee with Susan. They would laugh and share stories. She would invite him to dinner, because they were both nearing 50 and too old for games. 
 
 They would go to La Roustilla, and he would order for both of them. She would protest but he was old fashioned. They would go on like this, dating, and then he would ask her to marry him. 
 
 She would accept, and he would meet her kids from her previous marriage to her late husband. They would grow even older together. He would continue his World War I button collection, and she would crochet in the rocker. 
 
 James sighed, and checked his watch. 8:22 am. 
 
 He knew none of that would happen.
