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1107 hours 06.04.06

0 comments | 11:07 am | top |
" the un-just time of 715 hours, his accursed alarm shattered a blissful but meaningless dream..."

Deftly flicking the lid of his laptop up, the elusive character paused to think. The laptop, a Toshiba TE2100, showed that this man had taste, but not enough experience to be as elite as his exterior, his mannerisms and appearence would appear to mirror. (The TE2100 though having the coveted TOSHIBA badge, is not infact made by Toshiba - and is of cheaper design and manufacture, than, say, the Satelite or the all-powerful Qosimo)The fact that he was wearing his younger (but slightly taller and more solid) brother's ex-army jersy says a fair bit as well. The cuffs fair down over his wrists where they should probably have been tucked under. The black t-shirt advertising the Greek Resteraunt in Town is hidden by the jersy, so the people behind him don't realise that it's Ouzo this guy is running on. He's wearing a pair of jeans (size 32) (the belt helps), which, slightly flared, cover his Jandals ($9.99 at the Warehouse). This is without a shadow of doubt, a man of fashion - his finger's obviously on the pulse, two or three steps ahead of most of the other first year students in the room, (although they probably think he's quite behind them). We left this elusive and well-dressed man, pausing to think. Even as he pulls the USB wireless card out of his bag and carefully but directly reaches round the back of his laptop plugging it in (the result of many years of practice), the thought hits him - "why am I here?". Why is this man here? Because he woke up in the morning and came here.

At the un-just time of 715 hours, his accursed alarm shattered a blissful but meaningless dream. Roughly dragging his body accross the edge of his sleeping platform, he leaned over the side, hands on the floor, till he could reach the red cabinet. Silencing the vile noise, he pulled himself back under his duvet...

To the falsetto lyrics of a couple of Chris Martin's earlier and better songs, and concerned about the battery level in his mp3 player, the tired man shot off down the long and unforgiving Maidstone Road. As always, it was pedal to the metal and just the one goal in mind - the journey back to base. A quick stop at the best little bakery in New Zealand, this involves a painfully long wait for three women, obviously each striving to attain the stereotype of the middle-aged upper middle class woman, ordering and or waiting for their coffees.

With the four cheese and bacon knots securely stowed in his bag, the man was ready for anything the day might throw at him...

Anything, but the Management Science lecture!


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