New Tie

There are times in the lives of the weak and cowardly when the idea of killing yourself to get out of going to work the next morning seems like a fair and right-minded deal. We’re social animals, and a grotesque psychological unravelling in public is potentially fatal, one way or another. And sometimes you can feel that unravelling starting to happen and you’re looking at the clock as it nudges you through the night into the anxious hours before dawn, feeling time being whittled away until you’re pierced on that one, present moment where you must present your alarmingly escalating emotional nudity before a world that at worst hates you and at best bears you no particularly active malice and you can’t do it, you lose your breath and your breakfast and you keep on walking past the place that you work and end up on the cliffs, slithering around in the mud, being shoved around by the wind, dragging yourself pathetically along with fistfuls of grass and tree roots, shitting in a cave and wiping your arse with your new tie.

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