A working class hero is something to be

Its been far too long. It been far to hard on my bank account. Its been far too crazy for a few weeks. Its been far too much in terms of the doubt. Its been far too in my face. But finally I have seem to have thrown the shit back where it came from. Straight into the depths of the black bimbotic hole they call their mouth. Yup Sigmond has a job. Not at an ice-cream store or the equivalent of that an ad agency, but a job at a far out geeky make all the money you want corporation and boy does it feel good.

So here I am a living testament that at the end of the day the grades don't matter, at the end of the day all you need to be is where you want to be. And for all the reasons I knew, it worked out. But then again its not all that much different from university really.

So here is what I now go through most days of the week, whilst the rest of the world passes me by.

1. Walk to the bust stop early in the morning. And I mean early, the birds are still shaving and the people are well for some peculiar reason running (God damn you its morning if you aint got no place to be stop trying to get somewhere in a hurry). At the bus stop I meet my gang of early miscreants. Quiet like the reservoir dogs we are all dressed as best we can considering the fact that the iron doesn't seem to iron at 6 in the morning. The gangs quite coy actually we have Dropess the lady of the north who clever disguise as one from the orient hides the fact that she is in actuality sleeping all the time (damn damn those slit eyes). Then theres factiva boy, who sits all morning reading the pictographical representations of real world facts aka cartoon science books (now that's what I call a mutant). And in the end there is ad agency boy, he wears the strangest clothes (checks with dyed hair and fungus hanging from his chin, a girly sling on bag light blue in color and finally crocodile leather shoes so fresh that you could almost see the tears.
2. I board the only bus on this island which is not airconditioned. Its rickety and almost feels like its running on its rims. However the slow and constant creaking makes for a good lullaby which makes for good sleeping. Sleeping only in the jest of the word, for invariably the guy sitting next to me is bursting out of the seat or is a woman with so much perfume on that one could almost gift her their olfactory senses just to be saved from the tyranny of chanel and poison.
3. I feel like a average Joe mostly in step three, where the exodus of people dressed in formals exit the bus and make their way to serve the queen bee. Mine happens to be a really large queen bee with many slaves clad in formals dorning the look of important fatigue almost as though they themselves know that in reality they are but drones large obnoxiously boring drones.
4. Then there is work, work is work and that's all I can say about it. If I tell you I wouldn't have to kill you but im sure it hearing about all the excitement that happens in a working day will definitely pump that heart rate up and for the weak and faint hearted well it will kill. (note to self: Stop dreaming man, this is not MI6 and you aint no Indiana Jones, but you could be ... yes you could.)
5. Home is eventually where the heart is, I think. No wait its where the bed is. Yup that's what counts the most, pillows (or in my case pill (an excuse for A pillow))and sheets and comforters. AAHHHH the sweet scent of sleep, an aphrodisiac for the weary and for me the only sense of subconscious pleasure that I might obtain. Its been a HARD DAYS NIGHT, ive been working like a dog. (it includes fetching, shaking hands and playing dead.)

So for all those people out there who are waiting to earn and work and do something meaningful with their lives .. all I say is.. hope it pays well .... cause mine does and for some reason at the end of the day all that green makes its aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy oooooooookkkkkkkkk.

Sigmond the collar
Bleached to a perfect white and hung out to dry