The alarm went off at 7:15 and my skull felt like something had died inside it. Wednesday. Christ, it's always a Wednesday. I pulled on yesterday's shirt, didn't bother with the mirror, and poured the last of the coffee into a mug that hadn't been washed since Tuesday. The radio kicked on by itself — some 90's station playing Savage Garden and Hanson, real torture-chamber stuff, the kind of music they'd use if waterboarding ever went corporate. I killed it and hit the street. On the tram a woman told me I looked tired and a man in a tie asked if I'd caught the Arsenal game last night. I told him I didn't and he looked at me like I'd confessed to something. I got to work 22 minutes late. I walked past the crowd at the coffee machine, sat down, and stared at the wall. The wall stared back. We understood each other perfectly. feel free to leave a comment
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