Though maybe he's daylight drunk. Singing his heart louder than the city's cry. They pass him ignoring doggedly, hurrying unfazedly, laughing bemusedly. It'll be mine to run soon. In through the mouth of this building buddha.
Feet shift at the prayer-silent silver door.
Impatiently up the serene shaft, tolerating the featherweight underlings. But he shifts his feet angrily, a bull making ready, when one holds the door to extend chat to the other. Yellowing orange light follows the elevator door as he exits promptly to his office suffused in this morning bath. Ignore the good morning of a younger colleague, for it's good to toughen up for the day. And as he sits to his terminal, a family wakes angry, wakes cold.