The Mac is a tired man. He’s been traveling around the parts of New York State that nobody ever bothers to travel to on behalf of business and now, at the end of a long week, he is tired. He misses the bustle and progress of his home office in New York City; everywhere else is too quiet.
He’s working on a report that is expected tomorrow morning. It won’t be done, he knows that and his supervisors know that. He wasn’t given enough time to finish the report so it’ll be late. Again.
That almost doesn’t bother him as much as the snow outside. It’s not even the snow that is making him tired (he has snow back in NYC), it’s the emptiness of the place the snow is falling in. A plane passes noisily overhead as he takes another sip of his now lukewarm double-latte-with-an-extra-shot-of-hazelnut and he so wishes he could be on that plane, headed back to the city– back to civilization.
Not that Buffalo isn’t civilization– it just isn’t enough civilization to ease his fatigue.