सोमोने एल्स'एस सॉफ्ट दीप mud

Alenby just sat there. The more he sat, the more angry I became, though I'm not a big fan of being angry. It's just that Alenby was so smug in his sloughing and I hate sinking in someone else's soft deep mud.

"What's up Alenby?" the boss said, as I turned my gaze toward yet another board in the floor. I was searching for a precious office supply, in this case a paper clip, that I thought I heard myself drop. Perhaps it was nothing. Maybe that ill defined sound was the last gasp of a dying star somewhere, triumphant in its fry, yelping its swan song across the cosmic effluvium.

"Chillin'", said Alenby with a carefully prepared grimace, locally applied.

"Don't you have any work to do?" boss says in retaliation.

Alenby says nothing, jams a cigarette in his sneer, and storms out to sit in his car for a while, it's his security blanket and place of meditative refuge, the womb of all regrets. "If only I hadn't screwed my life up so bad ever since I was born", he prays to himself in solemn strange smokey silence.