A Day In The Life

It started with a newspaper. A Metro, specifically, sitting open on a subway seat as we all know Metros are wont to do.

At first glance it was just like any other; a bold headline reporting some silly urban occurance supposedly relevant to the lives of the readers; schlock news and celebrity slag abounding coupled with a far-too easy crossword easily crossed (four minutes fifty-three seconds easy, to be exact).  See, that’s why I paid it no special attention – it was no special collection of recycled newsprint, let me tell you that.

Of course, me being the unathletic bastard I yet prove to be, I skipped right over the SPORTS section (ever squeezed between the seemingly ever-imperative FASHION and ENVIRONMENT sections).  Now, if I hadn’t been so averse to these pages of pure penis, I would have noticed that little manila envelope tucked between the results of Small People Racing Abused Horses and Angry Men Crushing Eachother that would prove so very troublesome in the days to follow.

Anyway, back to work. As I arrived at my station, I stashed the paper in my bag lest I draw the angry stares of commuters fellow.  I disembarked, dove into the typing Bloor Station chaos and swam through the suit-donned sea and went to work.

[Maybe TBC. We'll see. I didn't mark the date in my notebook. xx0608, is all I know.]