The gods were bored; therefore they created human beings. – Soren Kierkegaard
Julian Assange turned from the bulletproof glass. It was a little foggy out. Nothing outside of the normal weather pattern for London. The haze would burn off around noon, revealing a bustling street where people went about their business. Walking to bus stops, having soup with their lunches, clutching their hats in the rising wind.
The Ecuadorian Embassy was relatively quiet. It was some national holiday. Most of the staff was gone. His boredom turned him to his smartphone. It was the only thing that got him through the minutia of daily existence as a political prisoner. There was no escape at this point from the Ecuadorian Embassy. He’d just have to bide his time until he was no longer known as an international cyber spy.
He went to check his Facebook.com. “Connection cannot be established,” read the screen. He glanced at his Wi-Fi signal. Gone.
“Jorge! The bloody Wi-Fi is down again,” he called out. “Jorge!”
He sat in a felt wingback chair and looked around the room. It was still. The sight hum of the air conditioner kicked on and he felt the artificial breeze on his face. He lay his head on his hand and thought of times in sunlight.