From my office window, I watch as Buckingham Fountain throws plumes of water five stories high. Tourists crowd about it, taking photos, while friends and lovers stroll through Grant Park.
Lake Michigan is an odd lavender; a dark cloud layer filters the morning sun in peculiar ways. The harbor is nearly empty; most of the boats must be out on the water already.
My officemates walk past my desk nonchalantly: it's a slow Wednesday, and a lot of the senior executives are out today. In between updates to Excel spreadsheets, they watch soccer games or Family Guy episodes or talk about their progress in Farmville.
And here I am, with a full plate of work, but with eyes only for the clock. I want to scream at the tourists, the friends and lovers, the yachters, my coworkers: "Good God Almighty, there are just thirteen hours to List Release! What the hell are you doing, people? Do you see the PVC pipes just sitting over there? How can you be so calm?!"