The last day of the working week, when all you can think about is the weekend. A sweet escape where he wasn’t restricted by or trapped in this damned office. With its drab furniture, murky, damp ridden walls and it crinkly, unloved carpet. He hated and loathed it all. All he wanted was freedom.
He sighed, taking a drag from his cigarette, one last release before the ember disintegrated. He relaxed as the nicotine hit his nerves – not like he could feel it at all. He then dropped the used cigarette, as it was useless. Crowley had stopped caring about it the millisecond he’d exhaled. Sometimes he’d hope as it made contact with the desk, letting the flickering fragments of flame tap the document in front of him, the desk would go up in flames.