30 June 2012
There was a metallic clink as the letterbox snapped shut. The dog had failed to hear it this time, testament either to the mastiff's progressing deafness, or the postman's tentative stealth. Either way, there was now one notably unmauled letter lying alone on the doormat. Like a pebble on the beach it would sit there unnoticed and nondescript until The Husband finally came home, puffing and panting and brooding over another day at the office. No doubt Charles, The Chief, had been working the troops in his typically totalitarian fashion, wearing them down to the bone with an extra client-form here and a feedback review there, or simply the infuriating whine of his voice. Maybe it was nature for a man promoted to Charles' position to adopt such a scintillatingly obnoxious stance, perhaps it was a sought after quality in the finance business, or maybe it was a characteristic only accumulated over several years of hard graft and ruthless haggling over ten pence here and and unpaid pound there. Whatever the reasoning, he was now irreversibly the sort of person to usurp a frail old man from his seat on the train because he'd 'rather face forward, if you don't mind' ...
Tbc
Untitled • Opuss № I