Cyclops

Martin’s ‘Best Boss In The World’ coffee cup has a lining, a centimetre thick, of coffee stain. Honestly. I’ve not seen anything like it. “I’ve never got round to washing it.” In defience to office convention he has turned his back on the vending machine and started to bring a flask of hot water and a catering tin of Nescafe.

Every hour on the hour he fills his cup with two heaped spoons of coffee and stirs the potent brew, a little too loudly, before slurping the contents like a camel in a drought.

He’s never less than a foot away from me and whistles “Me And My Shadow” at intervals.

In an otherwise uneventful day the lens fell out of his glasses. He went to scratch his eye and poked the lens out of the frame, “Shit! Shit! I’ll need a dog or a stick now to find my way home.”

I think I’ll stick to the vending machine.