Lobby, Wednesday morning, Fin ota
Fin had been to the post office to send a gift to an old friend in LA and had, frankly, procrastinated on the way back. Feeling the fresh air on his skin was pleasant. Sometimes his apartment felt like a cage.
But it was a comfortable cage and one in which he knew he worked well, so now he was on his way back to it with a bag of groceries under one arm and a few magazines, including the latest Smashing under the other.
In the Lobby he looked around and ambled towards the mail room.