It's a little bit creepy. I'm the only person left in my entire building, though the automated lights flash on occasionally, making me think nervously of poltergeists, not that I believe in such rubbish. I've been here on my own many times - I usually get locked in late at night - but rarely has it been so empty in the late afternoon. Stranger souls than I would be wandering around naked or breaking into colleagues' offices, but I'm content to put on some Steve Reich and enjoy the warmth.
I've actually had one of the best afternoons for ages: Zoot Horn picked up me and Gandalf and we went to his warm, comfortable, art-and-book lined home for pizza, Beefheart and erudite chat - leafing through his Library of Poststructuralism, learning the guitar (I still don't understand: violin = four strings, four fingers; guitar = six strings, four fingers). Returning to the office, and thence to my cold house, was a struggle. I felt like Mole leaving Badger's place in the depths of the wintry Wild Wood.