There was a weekend, with an extra day. A bank holiday, as they call it here in the UK. One of those occurrences people look forward to, an office conversation piece, a glorified event to gather around while trying to fend off the red Outlook-flags in our mailboxes. In the end it arrived, and as I turned off my computer on Friday afternoon, there was a feeling of open road in front of me. That might sound sad.
In the end the long weekend included many events, some containing egg fights, others cocktails in an underground 70s-Prague-style-place, and a few night bus rides. The days passed, the sun was out, life had a certain flow, there was some excitement, some sorrow, some new things, and some new people. The current seemed to go in the right direction, and last night, as I lay on a plot of grass with some equality tired individuals, drinking ice coffee and feeling somewhat hollow, it would soon be over.
And then I was back in the office, in the same office chair which was filled with so many expectations. The weekend haze still lingered, somewhere in between the emails and items I slowly crossed-off my to-do list in between numerous cups of coffee. We asked each other how it was, the great bank holiday weekend, and our stories were filled with that look in our eyes. Saying we’d like to go back, right now.