After another hard working day at my office as an information technologist I was rather drained out. It was quite obvious anyone who is expected to type on and on at the computer would get tired especially for me a thirty-nine year old. My Boss blabbered on "A good job done deserves a good reward, so just for you Steven I'll give you the rest of the day off." It was already three in the afternoon so it wasn't much of an early leave so I just muttered as I left "It's about time."
I paced home by my usual path home, a quiet industrial area in the centre of Sydney. I was really exhausted when suddenly I took notice of discrete voices coming from an eighteenth century style warehouse. It stood as tall as a two-story house and was about one hundred metres by fifty metres. The voices intrigued me, as I hadn't heard a voice from that warehouse for the two years I walked by this route.
Since I was so urging to discover who were in there I walked towards the abandoned looking building and noticed there were two black tinted BMW's parked at the front. I looked up and many of its little boxed windows were smashed or covered with dirt.
I opened its rusty gate as it scraped against the cemented footpath and walk towards the alleyway between the building next-door and the warehouse. There was a front door but who would take that risk of going inside. I saw a window about an A4 paper size and pulled my sleeve down to wipe the window. After I wiped the window I saw the reflection of myself a thirty-nine year old Australian born American with a bold head and circular puppy-dog eyes. I was professionally...