They're going away. They're all going away. Away from here. Into the rain system. Into the long weekend. Some are never coming back. A flash of lightning briefly illuminates humans fleeing into the distance.
I am stuck to my hands. The lights go down. I patrol the corridors, the empty cubicles. A door bangs shut somewhere in the office. There's no one there when I arrive. Wind rides the elevator shaft. I press my cheek against the vending machine glass. The light flickers. All are gone. Never coming back. My black coat waits to be let off the hook. I wrap it around me. It's dark outside. I walk my body into the weather.