Tuesday 19 May 2015

A New York State of Mind

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It was a day when nothing happened, nothing happened at all. Yes, people went about their daily business; trams pulled up at the stops and released their prisoners before incarcerating a new batch; office clocks ticked on their slow count down to knocking off time; coffees were percolated and drunk; sandwiches eaten and bees buzzed around flowers. But it was nothing to write a story about. Nobody fell in love; nobody had their first kiss; no one won the lottery. It was a day of nothingness. In fact, if by some piece of magic, you could erase the day, then no one would notice; no one would care; no one would write to the Times to ask to get Tuesday 19th May back.
Greg looked at the clock in his office. It was still only 11.30. It felt like he’d been in work for 8 hours already. He looked at the computer in front of him; the figures danced on the screen; the emails lay half written; while the email that he’d hoped would come from Magda was stubbornly refusing to ping into his inbox.
He took in a deep breath just as Marcus walked passed his desk; big mistake. His nostrils were hit with the stale smell of unwashed clothes and dried sweat.
‘Take a fucking shower,’ Greg mumbled under his breath.
‘What?’ Marcus said.
‘Nearly my lunch hour,’ Greg said, quick as a flash, feeling rather pleased with his word play. Marcus grunted and continued his walk across the office, leaving his dsigusting Pepe le Pew scent behind him.
Greg thought about Magda and that damned email. She’d accused him of sulking. It's funny but there is no answer to being accused of being upset and holding a grudge, because as soon as you say you are not, it sounds exactly like you are. It was the perfect way to win the argument.
Billy Joel’s New York State of Mind was playing on the radio. Greg wondered what his state of mind was. Magda would say it was an all talk state of mind, all talk – no action. He’d been promising himself he’d go to New York for years, he’d even got as far as getting himself the visa but still hadn’t booked the trip. Who the hell did it that way around? Greg, that’s who. He looked at the clock again, 11.33. Jesus was someone playing a trick on him?
‘Fuck it.’ He said.
‘What?’ said Marcus who was polluting the office again.
‘Bucket.’ Greg said. ‘KFC bargain bucket, that’s what I’ll have for lunch.’
‘Oh,’ said Marcus unimpressed.

Greg sat on the plane, he couldn’t believe it. He’d actually done it. He was on his way to the US of A. He tried to close his eyes and sleep but he couldn’t help wondering what the hell he’d done. He was three quarters of his way across the Atlantic, in a few short hours he’d be in New York, New York, NYC, the Big fucking Apple. At exactly the same time as he was landing he was supposed to be in a meeting to agree the budget for next year.

Maybe he should have told his boss, maybe he should have told Magda, but then again, maybe they’d have talked him out of it, and he was in a New York state of mind. 

3 comments:

  1. I like these lines: Nobody fell in love, nobody, had their first kiss and no one won the lottery. It was a day of nothingness and no one would notice if it was gone. In fact if by some piece of magic you could erase the day, then no one would notice, no one would care, no one would write to the Times to ask to get Tuesday 19th May back.

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  2. I think this can also be counted as one of your best stories this year with another characteristic feature of some of your stories: some kind of existential anxiety...
    :-)

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    Replies
    1. This was on my list and seeing as I am having an existential Crisis right now I might use it.

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