The time is 20:58.
The aisles of the supermarket are silent. Canned music plays over the speakers. A cold night pumped full of artificial air. Nothing to do. Nothing to do but to wait to go home, or to die. Whichever would come sooner.
The time is still 20:58 and I am sat on the floor, working packets. I push them to the floor just to pick them up again. I do this several times over. It is still 20:58.
There is a child screaming in my ear. It is wearing a pink coat with orange shoes. A terrible combination. Someone should just kick it. I wish someone would kick it. Why won’t somebody kick it? It screams in my face and the parents move to the next aisle. It is still 20:58 and the child is still screaming.
Outside the cool night air embraces those who are living. I am sat on the floor surrounded by packets of underwear. I knock some more on the floor. I will work until I die. This task will accompany me to the end of my life. Hundreds of packets of underwear everyday for eighty years. A worthwhile existence. It is still 20:58.
My shift would end later and I would go home, eat a chicken cob, and go to bed. Then I would wake up and come to work and sit on the floor and tidy packets.
My buttocks had become numb. So had my brain.
I looked at the clock. The time was 20:57.