‘Right, fucking focus you idiot,’ he says to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He brings up the twin sets of prongs to align the wires when another thought distracts him - this one not of much consequence, more a matter of lunch, but it’s there. Not because he’s hungry, but because, well - he doesn’t really want to be here, doing this, and it’s hard to admit that when you’ve spent the formative years of your life getting here and now you want something else. He electrocutes himself.
Paddy Dobson
25th June 2024