lunchbreak

The fourth generation lawyer spoke with a unique voice - that squeeze of a non-varying pitch of a human-mosquito. He was proud to introduce himself as a  professional accountant working for an empirical organisation whose only worry was how to invest its gigantic pool of cash. Thereon, upon the slightest invitation he was happy to divulge anything from its IT markups to periodical 'strategic' sacking. And he offered his explanation for doing law: first, his great grandfather, his grandfather, and his father were or are all lawyers; second, to join the troop of in-house litigators at his workplace whose only job was to cross out the cases that were worthless to fight.

It was not the most conducive environment to create impression. I somehow felt bloated from the lunch and breathless in the stagnant room. There was the low humming of the building and a thin continuous thread of voice between me and peace.