-What’s yer job, mate?
-Uh, I sing.
-Ye sing? What like wee songs an all?
-Um, yip.
-What do ye do, Johnny Cash, fuckin Elvis?
-Naw I write me own.
-Write me own. Fuckin ballacks. Nobody wants to hear that shite, get the fuckin tunes on lad, raaaaa.
-Right. Do you sing?
-Do a fuck. Couldn’t sing ma way out of a paper bag. But here, dancin? Best around.
-Well here do ye wanna join my band? We need a dancer…
-Fuckin what. What ye payin me?
-The pay’s shite, but ye’ll get more possy than Steven Nolan.
-Fuckin sign me up, leeeeeddddddd.

Got a fuckin’ job. Got a fuckin’ job. Now all the other job boys wanna hang out and talk to me and stuff. Bein’ a man like. Talkin’ like a man. Using well-honed mental tactics to keep each other at bay. I wear a shirt and tie. He wears a boiler suit. I would say he’s less than but he makes more than me as he’s a he he. What’s a he he? A he he is somebody who has taken it upon themselves to dedicate their entire existence to the devotion of manhood. His name’s Dickie. Nobody fucks with Dickie. I spat in my bosses coffee just the other morning then smiled right back in his face. I don’t even hate him that much I was just refining my skills. Sometimes when a man goes to say something I will interrupt him, especially if my wife is close. Other times I will stand tall and erect, giving full range to my carriage and plumage. I long to talk politics with the guy from cubicle five, but the guy from cubicle five has nicer shoes than me, and I know fuck all about politics. He uses words I don’t understand and barely even looks my way. There are moments throughout the working day when I will feel an unbearable upsurge of emotion, this I suppress in order to keep testosterone flowing freely. I study the anatomy of unavailable women. I read books on subjects I should know nothing about so that I can vent in a manner that befits modern living. I am a master of technology, nothing escapes my keen eye. I am also dying, of a disease so rare that one Chinese doctor turned in his resignation, seriously ill himself that he could not categorise nor label it. My time is coming. My time to go now. So long.