On Friday, July 29th, Dublin was exactly as the weather forecast had said. All morning, a brazen sun was shining over Merrion Park, reaching all the way to Cahal’s office, where he had settled next to the open window. The wind brought in the scent of freshly cut grass and, every so often, a stifling breeze would stir the ivy on the windowsill. When a shadow passed by, he looked outside; a flock of swallows were playfully competing high up above. Down on the grass, some people had come out to sunbathe and everywhere you could see children and flowerbeds overflowing with blossoms; so much life, carrying on smoothly, despite the endless human hardships and the knowledge that everything would eventually end.
The day already felt endless to him. When he glanced at the top of his screen, once again, it read 14:27. Now he wished he had gone out during his lunch break to walk all the way to the canal. He would have sat for a while on one of those benches and watched the silent swans and their young devouring the bits of bread and other leftovers thrown to them by people down there, in the water. Without realizing it, he closed the budget file before saving it. Then a sweeping wave of contempt hit him and he stood up, crossed the corridor, and ended up in the men’s restroom, where there was no one, and pushing the door, he entered an empty stall.