Working To Die

He was "at work". "Working for a living."

Working to die.

He slammed his fist into the plastic (everything is plastic these days) paper towel dispenser in the men's room, which was the only room he could escape to and be himself without putting on a fucking act.

It made a satisfying "boom", loud, and sure to grab the attention of anyone close by, but he realized it accomplished nothing, except to release his suffocating anger - temporarily. But it was a damn good boom and a satisfying transer of anger.

The best part was the fact that the mirrored door that housed the "medicine cabinet" mounted right next to the dispenser, opened up every time he punched the towel dispenser. It was so fucking entertaining.

So he did it every time he went to the bathroom. 

Boom. Fucking boom. Mirrored door easing open.

He wished the "medicine cabinet" was stocked with cocaine. Pot. Opioids. Anything that would grease his way through the day.

But of course everything in 2021 is sanitized. That is why life is so boring. That is why suicide is a national sport, which should be featured in the Olympics.

You watch the fucking weather report and they give you tips on how to deal with thunderstorms.

Are you fucking kidding me?

This is why he wears cargo pants.

This is why he sneaks booze into work.

Smarter than the average bear.