He never cared for November. The month always draped everything in a dreary gray, with its endless fog and the need for electric light to burn all day in his office, while the sun remained a distant stranger.
Driving to work in the morning—dark. Heading home in the evening—dark.
Though he returned from work in the comfort of his car, with the radio playing softly, the air conditioning humming, and the colorful glow of advertisements flickering past his window—the capital was already gearing up for the New Year, even though there were still two full months to go.
But it seemed everyone was desperate to shake off this cursed leap year, a year that had brought so many troubles to the world. Deep down, like hopeful children, people clung to the belief that when the clock struck twelve, when the date on the calendar flipped, everything would magically turn for the better, as if waved into existence by a wizard’s wand.
But first, they had to make it to the New Year. Would everyone get there?
People hurried along the streets, pulling warm hats down over their foreheads, raising the collars of their coats and jackets, and covering their faces with masks. They looked like mysterious phantoms; all he could see were their eyes, and those eyes reflected nothing at all. Most gazed indifferently at the shop windows, while some talked on their phones or scrolled through messages on their apps as they walked.
He was fed up with this, the most unwelcoming month of the most unpleasant year in a restless, jittery country. Sure, they’d played the election game for a while, but came out with nothing to show for it...
Well, they’d made a decent profit, at least. For the media, it was a veritable harvest. So, you could say the crop was in, and now it was time to prepare for the next big haul—the holiday season around New Year’s and Christmas.
Those, at least, were more pleasant worries, less nerve-wracking. Politics, on the other hand, drained every ounce of energy and health. Lately, he’d often slept at the office, lacking the will to drive home after midnight to an empty, dark apartment. He’d been divorced for years, and they’d never had children.
But the deadline was behind him now, and he could finally head home. Everything there was spotless, the fridge stocked with all sorts of food (thanks to the housekeeper who came every other day while he was at work, working her magic like a tireless fairy to keep things just the way he liked). There was comfort, quiet, and a switched-off phone. No calls, no notifications pinging through messaging apps.
At home, he was always off the grid.
But sometimes, it felt like if he truly disappeared, his subordinates wouldn’t even notice their boss was gone. The well-oiled entertainment machine would keep spinning its dazzling wheels, making people laugh and cry, whisking them away to some enchanted world far removed from reality, yet all the more beloved for it. His deputies would quickly concoct a story that the Big Boss had jetted off on vacation to some tropical paradise. And who cared if there were lockdowns and closed borders? For people like him, restrictions didn’t apply.
Maybe he should just drop everything and head somewhere with palm trees, bright sunshine, and a warm sea?
But that, too, had lost its appeal, just like his job, his sleek, soulless home, and these ad-cluttered streets of the metropolis...
Nowhere could he escape himself, or this monotonous autumn gloom. Maybe he should see a doctor, get a prescription for some antidepressants?
But of course, he wouldn’t go anywhere...
The traffic light blinked, switching from red to green, his foot instinctively pressed the gas pedal, and the car moved forward.
“Or maybe,” he thought, “I should try something no one’s ever done before? After all, that could be interesting...”