10: Dirty Shit

Bob paces around the New Books and Cataloguing Room seven times, swinging his arms. He hefts the complete Britannica - the volumes equally divided between each hand, over his head. He holds them, his muscles trembling, for a full minute this time. He places them back on the shelf.

His morning reps. are done and dusted now, and he's feeling pigging great. Great. He wants to roar, but the last time he tried it he got in trouble.

He pulls open the bottom drawer of his desk. He opens his camo-print soap-bag. He sprays Brut down the neck of his shirt in the direction of his armpits. He flaps his arms like a chicken and winks over his shoulder at Katerina. She is ignoring him again. He takes off his shoes and socks and delves deeper into his soap-bag. Where are the pigging toenail clippers?

He leans over and takes a paper knife from Katerina's desk and uses it to saw at the yellow rinds of his big toe-nails. Finally, the silly bint looks up.

You're a dirty shit, do you know that Bob?

What he says, cupping one hand around his ear. I didn't hear you love. Speak a bit louder the next time, eh?

I said, you're a - never mind. She huffs and turns her chair sideways so she can't see him.

Bob laughs. He is in peak physical condition. He is on top of the world. Nothing can touch him. Nothing.