Only Messing

Harold longed to insult his boss. He really did. Tell preening Paul what he really thought of him. Use all his bad words. The ones mother wouldn’t allow.

But he couldn’t. Instead he hid inside his fleshy shell.

One day there’ll be a revolution, he thought, and people like me will rise. Then I’ll grab my boss by his hipster beard and throw him off the building. Or a cliff. Whichever is closer. 

Paul continued his endless tongue tirade. Laughing. In front of the the whole office. They laughed too. What else could they do?

‘Does your mammy still buy your clothes for you Harold?’

‘No.’

Harold lied.

He lied a lot.

‘Only messing Harold. You’re great fun you are.’ Paul said.

Harold sipped his tepid tea and returned to work.

Tea-break was over.

Sitting back to his desk he whispered a silent curse while the office continued to laugh.

-Job

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