things move around

Needless to say, my predecessor and myself are not entirely dissimilar. As my employment here wears on, I find my work resembling his to a gradually greater extent. I find myself moderating the rhythms of my workday - my hot and cold drinks, my sighs, my reveries, even my farts - until they resemble what I imagine were his. Day by day my flourishes, my idiosynracies, become closer in style to those of my predecessor. Or is it that I see in his work more of myself? Certainly I admire his work now more than ever: some of his charts are exquisite in their proportion, their intuitiveness, their sense of balance. As I deduce more about his life and what manner of man he was (a very well-mannered man, that is), I am convinced that he and I - Stephen and I - have more in common than the superficial, more in common than two abject strangers, more in common even than two brothers. No, that’s going too far.

In fact it wouldn’t surprise me to find that Stephen kept a diary of his own. For what could he have done, in my position, other than what I do, look, and weigh up, and set down, and, from time to time, act?