Small desk was in neat order. It was a neat little office. Sure there was room for complains. He had straight view on hallway which wasn’t very relaxing when your door had to be open all day. Foot stomps and chatter never seemed to halt. Narrow window at corner had view down on street, right at streetlights. Traffic never stopped in New York. Fine suits, hoodies, umbrellas, yellow cabs. This was closest to own space Aiden had.
At lunch breaks he turned the office chair towards window. Chewing sandwich he would assess traffic below him. This was one odd feature of him. He would nervously twitch pencil when listening. His room housed wall full of folders and binders. He wasted time strolling nearby shelves, pushing backs onto line. Then someone came to look for certain folder and he had to redo his ritual all over.
At window he was above everybody. Nobody thought about peeking up, at this precise window. Nobody could get to him. In this lifestyle that was a feature he valued a lot. Somehow he had no problem sleeping next to ex-army man that may or may not have killed someone that same day. But this corner was special. Frail, pale hand slipped across window frame as he rested his palms on both sides. Nobody had any business to tamper with this little corner.