Pedestrian

Dwelling

The bustle of the city greets me with a two-ton handshake.
I stared into the headlights not unlike a common deer: listless and unwavering; and in one swift motion freed from the meld.
"What the f**k were you doing "she demanded.
"Someone turned off the sun…"I trailed
And then in that same swift motion she was gone.
It was not an uncommon exchange. I was used to such "morally feasible" actions before: toting around a bleach container filled with water. Again with the concern and confusion accompanying the interaction, one walked up to me and knocked the container out of my hand on my way to work. He told me that I should not be so dour and to "makesomethingofyourself" or something like that, as I was saying it was not an uncommon occurrence. I told him the same thing he responded the same way and I continued onto work as I did today, but today was uncommon. When I entered Herring Place the guard at the security checkpoint winked at me instead of his usual menial grunt. The receptionist flirted. F**k. It was happening again. I slept. Without haste and avoiding communication, up stairs, down the hall, past others, into my cubicle, and I begin. First the sterilizing: how I hate needles. Pulling my sleeve up, no longer pale pathetic limb, now featuring the desirable attributes and tone, aphrodisiac, plunge; and I go in with a tear and a tear just to be sure. Re-sterilize and roll them back down.
"Hello Nils" She upturns the silence.
"Is it performance evaluations already?" shakily.
"No, I just noticed you were a little uneasy" response.
"Nothing is wrong maam." I retort.
Torpid footsteps recede from earshot and I commence. Lines of code elongate amidst the terminal reeling in my attention. Imperfect, the whole lot of them, and I toil: 101100011001, 1111000, 11001001001110, 1010111. Joy, rewriting to match upcoming sales, no joy and each stroke a strand unraveling the coil of my sanity. This was my job. This was normal and inconsistent. They run together after a couple of hours so begin the process again: First the sterilizing, then tug at the sleeves, tear and tear just to be sure, re-sterilize and roll them back down. They run together after a couple of hours. Chime. I leave. Hands in my pockets hastily passing by the receptionist and her advances, motionless at the checkpoint and ignoring the glances: I run home.

Author's Note

Inconsistencies