I am always last to leave. Not by choice, but by profession. Out and in, yes, but I am the last one out. I go up those same dark grey marble stairs, olive drab green rucksack swung neatly around my curved waist. This being the second time to glance down at those stairs, and the last. Hopefully, that is. Strategically, it will be the last. I speed up my step, and out into the open air retreating into the background once again. We 3 will not meet up again until a later date, after all has been worked out accordingly. Snart det skal bli helgen.
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