(no subject)

Oct 31, 2015 06:15

Gabe has a headache. Too many bubbles the night before, there might have been dancing, which means he was really far gone, because he’s never been a dancer. And now his head is pounding like the beats from the night before. He’s too old (he realises with a certain amount of distress) to abuse his body the way he used to. It’s made worse by being around the young pretty things at work, with their relentless ability to party every night and then turn up the next day and work anyway even though they’d only gone to bed a couple of hours before.

Damn them. Damn their shiny youth!

And so he’s been hiding in the office out the back, head on the desk resting on a pillow made of paperwork, willing himself not to lose his guts all over the lot.

Why life so hard? Why bed so far? Why room so spinning? Why millennials talk so loud? WHY BODY SO OLD?

Someone knocks on the door, relentlessly, and finally ignoring the fact he’s busy ignoring her, she puts her head around to say he’s needed out front.

“Busy.”

Can she see he’s busy dying here?

Evidently not.

So he gets up, finally, and makes his way out to the front to deal with the latest drama.

[You could be the person complaining, a staff member, or just a random - take your pick! Setting would likely be The Globe Bar (Leeds) or DeLuca Gallery (Madison Ave, NYC)]

SSWS
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