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It was a day when nothing happened, nothing happened
at all. Yes, people went about their daily business; trams pulled up at the
stops and released their prisoners before incarcerating a new batch; office
clocks ticked on their slow count down to knocking off time; coffees were
percolated and drunk; sandwiches eaten and bees buzzed around flowers. But it
was nothing to write a story about. Nobody fell in love; nobody had their first
kiss; no one won the lottery. It was a day of nothingness. In fact, if by some
piece of magic, you could erase the day, then no one would notice; no one would
care; no one would write to the Times to ask to get Tuesday 19th May back.
Greg looked at the clock in his office. It was still
only 11.30. It felt like he’d been in work for 8 hours already. He looked at
the computer in front of him; the figures danced on the screen; the emails lay
half written; while the email that he’d hoped would come from Magda was
stubbornly refusing to ping into his inbox.
He took in a deep breath just as Marcus walked passed
his desk; big mistake. His nostrils were hit with the stale smell of unwashed
clothes and dried sweat.
‘Take a fucking shower,’ Greg mumbled under his
breath.
‘What?’ Marcus said.
‘Nearly my lunch hour,’ Greg said, quick as a flash,
feeling rather pleased with his word play. Marcus grunted and continued his
walk across the office, leaving his dsigusting Pepe le Pew scent behind him.
Greg thought about Magda and that damned email. She’d
accused him of sulking. It's funny but there is no answer to being accused of
being upset and holding a grudge, because as soon as you say you are not, it
sounds exactly like you are. It was the perfect way to win the argument.
Billy Joel’s New
York State of Mind was playing on the radio. Greg wondered what his state
of mind was. Magda would say it was an all
talk state of mind, all talk – no action. He’d been promising himself he’d
go to New York for years, he’d even got as far as getting himself the visa but
still hadn’t booked the trip. Who the hell did it that way around? Greg, that’s
who. He looked at the clock again, 11.33. Jesus was someone playing a trick on
him?
‘Fuck it.’ He said.
‘What?’ said Marcus who was polluting the office
again.
‘Bucket.’ Greg said. ‘KFC bargain bucket, that’s what
I’ll have for lunch.’
‘Oh,’ said Marcus unimpressed.
Greg sat on the plane, he couldn’t believe it. He’d
actually done it. He was on his way to the US of A. He tried to close his
eyes and sleep but he couldn’t help wondering what the hell he’d done. He was
three quarters of his way across the Atlantic, in a few short hours he’d be in
New York, New York, NYC, the Big fucking Apple. At exactly the same time as he
was landing he was supposed to be in a meeting to agree the budget for next
year.
Maybe he should have told his boss, maybe he should
have told Magda, but then again, maybe they’d have talked him out of it, and he
was in a New York state of mind.
I like these lines: Nobody fell in love, nobody, had their first kiss and no one won the lottery. It was a day of nothingness and no one would notice if it was gone. In fact if by some piece of magic you could erase the day, then no one would notice, no one would care, no one would write to the Times to ask to get Tuesday 19th May back.
ReplyDeleteI think this can also be counted as one of your best stories this year with another characteristic feature of some of your stories: some kind of existential anxiety...
ReplyDelete:-)
This was on my list and seeing as I am having an existential Crisis right now I might use it.
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