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He Sat At His Desk . . .

. . . surrounded by stacks of files and listening to the ever jolly holiday tunes on the radio. The files of people’s lives meant nothing to him. He loathed his job. He despised the stupidity and slap-dashedness of colleagues and those who worked in the organizations that were used for other aspects of the process of which he was at the arse-end of.

And added to it all was the fact that today was payday, yet here he sat, looking at the computer monitor in front of him. The bank’s website showed him the truth, though there were occasions where even they would lie to him, drawing him deeper into the smothering feeling of poverty and self-loathing.

“Fifty-eight dollars and change”, he thought.

He clicked the “Log Out” button and hung his head, letting out a short, raspy, life-weary sigh.

His hands lifted and cupped his head. His wearisome, fatigued and stressed head. His throat now felt like someone was gently choking him, the same kind of throttling that he last experienced when his doctor checked his glands. His eyes felt like they were bulging dams, ready to release the salty streamlets of sorrow that his soul, or at least what was left of it, wanted to free for all eternity . . .

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