It was one of those mornings when punching in seemed worse than sitting through Pink Floyd’s the wall for the tenth time. The traffic sounds outside took on an ominous tone which spoke of toil and deadlines. I lay in the bed watching the ceiling fan revolve monotonously with each second ticking by. Like a puppet animated by a ventriloquist I screamed. The knocking from the ceiling told me my neighbor had reacted. She was young, nubile, and had a smile which could wake the dead. Yet I’d started off on the wrong foot months ago. There was little chance of me and the little bird sitting over coffee or a movie; though I daydreamed so much more while dying of loneliness in my tiny cubicle.
     I swiveled my body, my bare feet landing on the cold hardwood floor. I had nearly fallen on that floor as I had so many ridiculous mornings before. I managed to stand up in my boxers and plodded like a POW to the sink. The cool menthol shaving cream perked up my endorphins ever so slightly. My embalmed body was beginning to rise from the dead. 
     My morning ritual ablution of an icy shower worked its magic bringing me into full wakefulness.  I quickly toweled off and pulled on some Dockers. The world outside awaited my arrival without even an iota of anticipation.  
     I buttoned up my shirt, like a surgeon stapling a suture. This dead end, nine to five, ego enhancer, sealed my stitched heart with thread bursting at the seams.  The loafers came on last. This gig didn’t require fancy duds. Every job had its perks.
     Soon I was sitting at my computer at work gazing at the screen like cable TV. All the trivial data paraded before me like cartoon characters. It felt like I was hallucinating in some surreal Kafka story which transpired here and now. I glanced to my side, at the red lit exit door sign. The door seemed to pull me like a tractor beam in a Sci-Fi movie. I pivoted on my roll chair.  For a moment I felt the freedom outside, imagining mountain meadows with my upstairs neighbor, her braided hair dangling in the breeze.  Out here east of Denver, in this Cubist castle, the moat of corporate machinery blotted out my fantasy with monotone walls.
     Sandy, my boss, strolled by in her pants and jacket, which mimicked a man’s suit. However, her imitation of a man appeared as a woman playing make up. There were so many games in this pantomime of life. I wondered if this was reality and all beyond was illusion.  Sandy smiled maternally down on me. I looked up at her saying, ”It just doesn’t get any better than this.”  She giggled saying, ”You’re up for promotion. Keep on with that attitude and you’ll be an office manager in no time.”
     I flailed my hands saying, ”Oh no. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” 
     Sandy patted me on the shoulder. She replied, “Don’t worry. Your station in life is secure.”   I gave her a smile and thumbs up. I watched her walk away with more than a passing fascination. Her suit did little to conceal her femininity.
     The fluorescent day inched onward with coffee breaks and keyboard tapping. I had an hour till transmigration in this loop of recurrence. Sandy approached like an archangel appearing in a dream. My eyes followed her every move, with a hyper-vigilance, born of an ongoing study of her form.
     She loomed over me, in close proximity, gazing downward as an Olympian deity.  She had a wry grin. I sat still caught in the web of her femininity. She said, ”Dan, what do you do at home?”
     I replied, “You mean away from here? I read a book till I’m drowsy. Then I brush my teeth.”     Sandy said,” Dan you sound like you spend a lot of time in your head. I can relate to that. I was considered way too cerebral by the guys in college. I didn’t start dating till I was in my late twenties. In high school I was voted most likely to be a spinster.”
     I leaned back in my chair with my mouth hanging open. I said, “I would have never guessed.”
     Sandy leaned forward grasping my shoulder with her right hand. She said, “You see you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
      I felt the impinging tingles from her touch. Sandy let go and straightened her jacket. She said, “Dan we should discuss Sartre one evening over tea.”
     I thought that sounded innocent enough. I said,” Sartre is right up my alley.”
     I gazed at her as she paced away turning a corner and vanished into the hive.
     The drive home took two hours in the rush of souls. I unlocked my door, threw off my shoes and crashed on the bed. I heard arguing upstairs. It sounded like my young neighbor was having a spat with her boyfriend.  I curled up without undressing. The ruckus above me died down and I drifted into a deep sleep, steeped in Sandy’s womanly aura.
     Morning came with percolation of aching joints. This Sisyphus would put his shoulder to the grindstone once again. My reward would be in heaven no doubt. That thought brought a chuckle to my secular humanist cynicism. However, there was no use feeling sorry for myself. That just made my burden heavier. This morning I almost looked forward to going to the machine again. Sandy came close to making it all worth it.
     However, I had made a little white lie. I knew nothing of Sartre. If we ever did rendezvous for tea I’d be found out.  I did the morning ritual with a renewed sense of purpose. The office seemed a little less soul crushing. Even the starched shirt felt less constricting.  Though I couldn’t see what Sandy found interesting in this old beat up guy. Perhaps I was reading too much into her gesture; after all tea and literary chat wasn’t necessarily romance.  With anticipation and trepidation I flung myself into the world outside. I prepared myself for the let down of unrequited affection.
      I entered the office feeling the atmosphere of tedium and regimented routine. I passed through the rows of cubicles watching the people hunched over their desks as though in a trance. This mind numbing cycle of repetition set in motion a contemplation for me. What would I be after twenty years of this? Yet Sandy filled the vacuum of desolation with sweet hope.
     I sat in submission to the holy economic motor. It was edging into noon, and I hadn’t seen Sandy all morning. I went to lunch and rapaciously devoured the turkey sandwich I’d prepared the night before. When I returned to my desk there was a note sitting there. It said that Sandy had been reassigned to another office in another building. Suddenly the dullness of this place shrieked. I felt short of breath and had heart palpitations. My eyesight got blurry. I felt a tear drop trickle insidiously down my face.
     In my delirium I tried to gather myself back into a semblance of order. I placed my fingers on the keyboard and began typing.  The words on the screen seemed like a different language. I watched my co-workers move back and forth feeling the distance between us as though we were subjects in a Skinner Box. Like inanimate objects we crossed paths without interaction; though perhaps my perception was skewed. Perhaps it was me who created this perception of this reality through my own timid reserve. Maybe I should see my job as a crucial part of the greater good.
     My chest pains waxed and ebbed throughout the day.  The loss of Sandy took its toll on me. Why couldn’t a guy like me get an even break once in a while? She was the one person who I could relate to here in this strange universe of circuitry and data. She felt human and real. The rest was just a dull dream. If only I could escape this asylum into the sunny realms of love. Yet I’d never known love and could probably live without it. Ah well. There was work to be done.
     I gazed at the tiny figures on the screen intent on finding my center. Perhaps this world was where I’d found a niche. There were many kinds of purgatories. The technological way of life may be our apotheosis. Humankind was setting off on a cybernetic evolutionary voyage. Who was I to question the wisdom of the Avatars? My passion for Sandy, however, was un-abated. With a heavy heart at the end of the day, I went to punch out.
     I arrived at my domicile and fell into my bed. I reached over pressing the button on my answering machine hoping for human warmth; a kind voice from someone who cared. The first message was a political survey. I erased it immediately. Then came a voice I didn’t recognize at first.  However, she introduced herself as Sandy from work. She said she’d gotten my number from the personnel department and left her number. I got goose bumps but tried to keep it in perspective. She might only see me as a friend. However, being her friend was an inviting prospect.
     I made the leap and called her. My heart was pounding a mile a minute. I stuttered, “Sandy. It’s Dan from the data center. I heard you were reassigned.”    

     She sighed. “Dan, I hope I’m not intruding. However, I’d like to have tea with you.”
     I gasped, “Really. Well of course. I’d love to. It’s so nice of you to ask. When would you like to meet?”
     I was really stumbling over my words. She continued, “Dan, don’t worry. I won’t bite.”
     I was on my back in bed breathing rapidly. Breathlessly I replied, ”Bite? Oh I’d have never thought that. Why of course not.”
     Sandy chuckled, “Dan how long has it been since you had a woman friend?”
     I sat up jerkily, “Oh it’s been quite a while. I mean well.”    

     She interjected, “Since high school?”
     I chuckled, “Well there is my sister. She and I are good friends.”        

     Sandy groaned, “Dan your sister isn’t what I’m talking about.”    

     I laughed nervously, “Oh you mean a woman friend!”
     Sandy replied, “Yes Dan. That’s what I mean.”
     I laughed again sputtering, “I understand now.”    

     Sandy responded, “I thought you’d catch on. You’re pretty bright.”
     She went on, “So meet me at my place at seven tomorrow evening. Be sure to brush up on your Sartre.”
     I laughed, exhaling, “Of course Sartre.” She gave me her address.
     She said, “See you tomorrow, Danny boy.” She hung up.
     The room seemed to spin around me. Dizzy with the prospect of a new found friend I tried to sleep. However, I didn’t slumber till after midnight. I woke at six to the firing of cannons in Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture on my radio alarm.  I clumsily made my way to the shower. The jets of cold water struck me at different angles stimulating exhilarating energy. 
     The day went by like a flow of clouds in a high, bright, and clear sky. I had a lightness of being which transcended my immediate surroundings. I imagined a cool breeze breathing through forest green with Sandy by my side wearing a garland of flowers on her hair. We traispsed through tall Redwoods, following a shimmering stream which wound through the land like a ribbon of light.  A fawn drank from the brook, unafraid of our presence. Sandy and I laid down in a copse of leaves, kissing and conspiring in our dissent from that world we longed to forget.  She had doffed her suit for a lily white cotton dress, riding up to her knees. The water trickled by like a lazy dream. The sun arced silently across the deep blue sky, illuminating her face like Pre-Raphaelite vision. I felt her touch unfastening my fears. The day shined on into afternoon, with shadows falling from the totemic trees. Night birds sang, and the melody of our love played gently, as the stars emerged.
     My daydream continued through the day. I departed the land of doldrums into the brilliant beyond where a blue sky greeted me. I worked my way through the traffic of humanity to her place. I climbed the stairs ascending into her lair. I rang her bell, awaiting what the evening held.  The door opened and she stood there, wearing jeans and an oversize shirt.
     She smiled, and said, “Hey Dan. Make yourself at home.”
     I ambled in and stood over her kitchen table. She walked up to me, pulled out a chair and said, ”Please sit down.” I sat as she pushed the chair in. She sat across from me and said, “You were punctual. You got here just a few minutes before we had arranged.”     I gazed at the clock above the kitchen sink which said seven o’ clock.  She smiled and said, “So what do you think of Sartre?”     I chuckled and gripped the table edge. I responded, “To be quite honest with you I’ve never read Sartre.”     Sandy threw back her head laughing and said, “So you were trying to impress me?”
     I grinned back, “Yea, but I guess I failed.”
     Sandy ran her hands through her hair, “Forsooth. Forsooth.” I knew I’d blown it by now.
     She continued, “Noone to worry. I really liked your shirt. That’s why I asked you over.”    

     I squinted, “Really? It was my shirt?”
     I looked at the plush couch across in the living room. I yearned to hold her in my arms sitting there. She replied, “Actually I dig shy guys. I also know you like philosophy because your personnel file says you have a degree in it.”
     I relaxed some. “Ahhh, so big brother is watching; or sister I should say.”
     Sandy got up and poured some green tea for us to drink.  She set one down in front of me her eyes gazing down for a moment. She sat down and took a sip. She queried, “Do you like Thoreau?”
     I got excited, exclaiming, “Do I like Thoreau? I’m ecstatic about Thoreau!”
     Sandy had a wry smile. She asked, “Do you ever dream of dropping out of society? Have you ever yearned to live in the woods, far from the maddening crowd?”
     I held my cup precariously. I said, “Oh it’s an unremitting yearning I have for that. I was just meditating on that today at work.”
     Sandy put her cup down resolutely. She countered, “I used to crave solitude. My deepest desire was to live completely alone, with only birds and trees as company. However, now I feel the need for human companionship. Do you get my drift Dan?”
     I squinted, “Yes I comprehend exactly your meaning.”
     She gazed at me with a piercing stare. She said, “I know. It’s just a fantasy.  There is no escape from the machine.”
     I nodded, “I know. I can’t imagine how it could be done.”
     Sandy gazed into my eyes, which mirrored her image of me. She asked, “Would you like to retire to the couch?”
     I nodded affirmatively.  We sat next to each other. I couldn’t see a TV. I felt giddy.  Sandy looked over at me, laying her right hand on my shoulder. She asked, “Would you like a back and neck massage? We can trade off; first you and then me.”
     I turned my back to her. Her hands dug deep into my shoulders, plying my nexus centers into nodes of pleasure.  I began inhaling and exhaling to the rhythm of her nurturing.  Her fingers slid up and down my vertebrae, coaxing them into bliss. She clasped my neck, with warm palms kneading me with physical empathy.
     Sandy said, “You feel less tense already. I could tell you were long overdue for a massage. You had knots all over your back.”
     I nodded, “I’m much appreciative Maam.”
     Sandy replied, “Dan please don’t call me Maam. I’m not that much older than you. Sandy will do quite nicely.”
     Sandy turned her back toward me to receive my sacramental touch.  I tried to mimic her patterns with my hands forming circles up and down her spine. I consecrated her back with firm blessings of pressure eliciting sighs from her. I rubbed her scalp writing poetry into her skin with each stroke of my sensual calligraphy. Sandy expressed her appreciation with deep sighs of joy.
     She straightened her back and turned around, her legs bent toward me. She reached out and held my chin with her fingertips. She kissed me with the velvety beckoning of her moist lips. Her kiss strangely reminded me of Halvah, with its sweet sensation. She stood and motioned with her finger summoning me with the words, “Come hither.”
     She had a wry smile as she grasped my hand leading me to the bedroom. I had never been seduced by the boss before. I felt like a supplicant venerating my queen. Suddenly my world had transformed from black and white to Kodachrome.  My senses rejoiced.
     We lay in the dark under a handmade quilt she told me her grandmother had made her. I wondered what her grandmother would think of this. I could feel Sandy’s body heat next to me. She was sound asleep with her head nestled against my shoulder. I could feel the rise and fall of her chest on mine. I kissed her lightly on the forehead and felt the arms of Morpheus embrace me.
     I woke to her sunshine smile in the mirror, as she primped herself for work. She bundled her blonde hair in a pony tail. She’d make an exquisite study for a nude, I mused. She must have seen me gazing at her in the mirror, because her reflection smiled. She said, “Men are nothing if not predictable. But you gotta love em just the same.”
     I looked at the crinkly ceiling finish. I retorted, “Women are nothing if not unpredictable. But you gotta love em just the same.” She turned around with an impish smile and replied, “Aren’t we a silly pair?” She wrapped a skirt around her hips and buttoned up her blouse. Next came her stiletto heels. I wondered at how our gender roles might seem bizarre to an anthropologist from Betelgeuse.
     Our lips met again, as she leaned over the bed and kissed me. She admonished, “You better get ready. You’ll be late for work.”  I looked at her alarm clock and saw it was almost seven. I heard her close the door on her way out.
     My work place was now a place where my life was resurrected. This was where I met Sandy. The malaise I’d felt had subsided. The air was filled with magic. Though the work was numbing, our nocturnal convergences gave me a purpose.
     One night about a month ago, Sandy and I drove into the western hills high above Denver. We sat gazing at the galaxy of lights below.  Sandy said, “It looks almost like an organic being, each light a cell in the brain of the city.”
     I held her close to ward off the fall chill. I conjectured, “Yes and the cars are like corpuscles rushing through arteries.”
     Sandy looked sleepy. She said, “We were made for each other.”