It’s My Friend From Work
There are things in this place I will never understand why they’re here. Like the countless old typewriters abandoned by their owners, the lone keyboards or the bunch of condoms I found in a drawer the other day. But of all things, there is one that always puzzled me, not much for what it is but for its size and color.
Inside its bright orange pot, inside the blandest, greyest, old administrative farm, next to my desk, a six-foot-tall palm tree is having the most boring time in the history of mankind.
Gods know how long it has been here, but for the time I’ve known it, it has never seen the sunlight, nor felt a real breeze of air. However, I know that its diet is quite the thing. Coffee, tea, protein shakes, fruit smoothies, agua fresca. If it’s too much for the people working here, and they can’t finish their drinks or don’t feel like tossing them in the bathroom, the palm tree gets it.
On boring days like these, I wish it could talk. I’d like to know about the juiciest gossip that graced this place before the workers were relocated to other facilities. To get its side of the many ghost stories I’ve heard. Does it get scared to be alone in complete darkness the entire weekend? Does it like the lattes I feed it once a month? Should I start ordering them with almond milk?
They kicked us out of that building a month ago. I think every day about the palm tree left there all alone. The other day I visited the building, it was a nice afternoon. From the street, I could see it in its bright orange pot outside in the garden enjoying the sun.
“Hello friend,” I said.
A gust of wind made it look like it waved back.
