The man on the other side is downright ugly. He's got jowls, a toupee, dog-eared fins. He's unkempt, too. Algae and barnacles grow unchecked on him. Several times a day, he treats me with one of his supposedly enticing side glances. I mouth U G L Y and other coarser words at him. Unfortunately, he doesn't hear me because the glass wall that separates us is so thick, though not thicker than him. It's a pity he cannot read lips either. Being a low-class office worker, or any kind of low-class worker, and a girl one at that, is bad enough, and then you're supposed to get along with the other workers for the company's sake. Once in a while one pops up that you can really befriend, or even date. But the guys I've seen here, oh my, what a sorry lot. The other girls fare no better, so at least there's not much of a competition. On the brighter side, I know what I am. Smart, solid enough to stand the daily grind, and pretty. I was born with this marvellously smooth blue-grey skin that my ugly neighbour longs to... (better not think of it ; still, I could take that as a compliment). I have the healthy gills they require in every job description. I have these orderly rows of little pearly fangs that will never cease growing and pushing forward until I die, and who soon will help me to bite and tear my way up to the top. Because these glass walls won't hold me for long. Yesterday, I stooped down to pick up some fallen papers, and I noticed the tiny cracks at the bottom of the tank. I give them a couple of months before they