The Vault
The sun spread its rays of canary yellow and cyan blue across the London horizon on this glorious morning. The Sun seemed to promise the town a whole July of blissful English weather. Rays of sunshine started to peak through the fading clouds of the night before, reflecting its glistening spotlights onto the tranquil Thames. John Major, the newly promoted bank manager opened his curtains to reveal a postcard perfect scene from his Southbank apartment. He arrived at work with his daily caffeine fix and a box of doughnuts. His assistant Nick Little detected these sugary delights and launched towards three glazed rings. His trademark stubble and the greasy strands upon his head gave the impression of a lack of professional attitude. The striking difference into the appearance of these two men makes one question if they even work in the same high profile business. Nick, a head smaller and three shirt sizes bigger than John, was intimidated by his new manager, suited up to the skies with tailor made suit and shoes as shiny as the Sun itself.
The City Bank was dwarfed by the soaring skyscrapers that towered around it. Whilst the exterior conformed to the modern day glass design, its interior was a far cry from the same modern look. It screamed the need for replacing tattered customer seats, or even just a lick of paint: any other colour than its gravel like shade. Amongst its fifteen members of staff present before the nine am opening hour, the only sound was Nick singing to dreadful cheesy songs like Britney Spears and Spice Girls. Nick was even considering entering Britain's Got Talent because he thought he was really good at it and wanted to become famous. This kind of naive dissolution summed his character up completely.
The sun spread its rays of canary yellow and cyan blue across the London horizon on this glorious morning. The Sun seemed to promise the town a whole July of blissful English weather. Rays of sunshine started to peak through the fading clouds of the night before, reflecting its glistening spotlights onto the tranquil Thames. John Major, the newly promoted bank manager opened his curtains to reveal a postcard perfect scene from his Southbank apartment. He arrived at work with his daily caffeine fix and a box of doughnuts. His assistant Nick Little detected these sugary delights and launched towards three glazed rings. His trademark stubble and the greasy strands upon his head gave the impression of a lack of professional attitude. The striking difference into the appearance of these two men makes one question if they even work in the same high profile business. Nick, a head smaller and three shirt sizes bigger than John, was intimidated by his new manager, suited up to the skies with tailor made suit and shoes as shiny as the Sun itself.
The City Bank was dwarfed by the soaring skyscrapers that towered around it. Whilst the exterior conformed to the modern day glass design, its interior was a far cry from the same modern look. It screamed the need for replacing tattered customer seats, or even just a lick of paint: any other colour than its gravel like shade. Amongst its fifteen members of staff present before the nine am opening hour, the only sound was Nick singing to dreadful cheesy songs like Britney Spears and Spice Girls. Nick was even considering entering Britain's Got Talent because he thought he was really good at it and wanted to become famous. This kind of naive dissolution summed his character up completely.