I turn off Ian’s computer and stand in the middle of the room. I imagine I am Ian. What do I do next? I walk over and open his sock drawer. There are socks in there. I will put some on and have a nice lie down.
I wish I was Ian, in here, having a nice lie down in my socks, and not out by himself somewhere on his birthday.
I am not Ian.
I am on a special new ‘early shift’ tomorrow. This is The Turtle’s invention. She says I should basically just turn up as early as I can and she will be waiting for me and then she will decide if I have turned up early enough. If I have not turned up early enough she will whip me.
I imagine starting an anarcho-syndicalist group: destroying The Turtle and my boss and just working for ourselves. Me, Carmella, the replenishment assistants, standing amongst the ruins, waving the plastic bags over our heads like violent orange flags.
Then I need a wee.
I look at the clock in Ian’s room. Half three in the morning.
Ian is still not home.