The Agency have moved into a temporary office. Now they rent two narrow cubicles at a wide one storey house. Then there is a big hall in the middle of the house, at the back there is a room with a semi-circular wall of double-glass panes and a round table in it. Well, there is a kitchen, a washroom and... a cat too. I've heard it meowing. There is a counter at the entrance and three inclined windows in the pointed roof. It is stuffed with the strange, almost "antique" (especially as for the New World ) furniture. Everything is covered with dust. The Agency are the only people who rent some space there, so most of the time this is our coordinator who is the only person in the house. The freak who owns that house calls our boss at 7 a.m. and wants to play the guitare for her. I have no idea how this place was used before. One of my colleagues says that the place lookes like the Soviet brothel. I don't know on what evidence this statement is based on. But could be, could be, yeah... So today I brought my camera to our office, and we had a photosession inside.
There came a young Arabian lady who used to do some "cultural studies" back in her home country. She was waiting for the interview with our boss. I don't know if she was hired, but surely she was impressed by our foolery she witnessed. She also wanted to know what is the wage she might expect and if I was happy working for the agency. I was too excited by the occasion for an exhibitionism, that when she asked about the salary for the second time, I was still polite. Well, happiness of working. M-mmm... Satisfaction could be a better word. Or am I pickig on the words? Yes, I am satisfied. But not my wallet. Is this happiness?