X-Pro1 Diaries: A Break In The Day

Lunch hour exists like a comma in a sentence, a transit during a flight, a breath in the middle of long note, breaking the day up into two more manageable halves. I could never understand people who ate at their desks at work, doing that was akin to playing all 90 minutes of a football match without halftime. Even going out of the office (if you worked in one) for a short walk serves to rejuvenate and recharge the mind for the afternoon ahead.

The midday sun beat down upon the pavement, a dizzy heat rising from the surface. People stood almost directly above their shadows, the heat and humidity forming a think and cloying atmosphere as women carried colourful umbrellas in an attempt to shield themselves from the sun.

Under the cool shade of a tree, construction workers toiling away all morning sought the chance for a quick kip, a noisy bunch of coworkers sharing a meal and the latest gossip, the restaurants busy with the lunchtime crowd, juggling orders and trays of perilously balanced food, and others opted for a cigarette.

For the non working crowd, the hour held no significance, time passing as it always had. The lunch hour was not unlike the hour before, or indeed, the hour after.

Then just as suddenly as the commotion began, it all turned quiet, the workers back in their air-conditioned offices, leaving behind plates of half eaten food, the ice from their drinks forming a small puddle of condensation, trickling to the edge of the table where it dripped on the floor.

A quiet monotony ensued.

2 men smoking red tie A cigarette takes the place of food