Armageddon

I

I should start taking my job seriously.

Maybe then I wouldn't lose my camera lenses on the day that I got the biggest gig of my career.

I mean, I'm sure I left them out last night so I wouldn't forget where they are today. How ironic is that? It's days like this that I wish I was born into some rich aristocratic family so I wouldn't have to work. Boy, wouldn't that be something?

At any rate, it wouldn't do me any good to be both late and a pure nick - if I can't find the camera lenses, then I have to at least look presentable. After applying light makeup and tying my hair up in a tight, neat ponytail, I grab a menstrual cup in case I have to replace the one I'm currently wearing. I decide I may also need to change my trousers and pants - mistakes happen.

I pull open the drawer in my messy bedroom, and I am awash with relief when I find my camera lenses inside. Why would I place £480 lenses in the drawer instead of my camera bag? Again, I need to start taking my job seriously. I retrieve them quickly - along with my jeans and underwear - and bolt out of the room.

I walk through the cloud of marijuana smoke that fills the passage and doesn't get the chance to ever leave because everyone around here smokes like a chimney. I used to be one of them, but after going to rehab twice and having been put into hospital after drinking a dangerous amount of alcohol, something had to give. I know I should move out of this place, but I can't afford anything other than this at the moment. The landlord has been nice enough to not increase our rent for the past three years; so, I guess I'll be here for the foreseeable future.

I take the stairs to reception and check for any mail and, when I learn that I have none, walk out to my VW Beetle parked on the sidewalk. As I'm about to step into the car, I hear a familiar, monotonous voice:

"Edgar?"

I turn around and come face-to-face with a dirty tramp - Charlie - smiling to reveal the yellow of the few teeth he still has.

"Were yaouw really guin ter leave wiouten bidden me tarra?"

"Fuck you," I reply coldly as I hop into my car and shut the door. I drive off at full speed, but not before revving my wheels and leaving Charlie in a cloud of smoke.

It's nothing new. He's a loser, nonsense speaker with a depressing voice.

I drive into West Brompton, and it's like I'm in a completely different country as I watch, in resentment, the tall, medieval buildings pass me by, and I stare in wonder at how people can afford to stay here when some of us are barely managing to pay our rent in the run-down part of town. I wade my car and my mind through the insults continuously being thrown at me - though I'm not sure if the buildings are responsible for the harsh words, or if the greater perpetrator is me. A sight that especially upsets me is that of a young woman jogging down the street, dressed in a pink tracksuit, air pods in her ear. She stops and takes a single air pod out to raise her hand in a wave, a great smile beaming on her face, extending from one ear to the other to show me her perfectly lined, perfectly white teeth. I ignore her. I wish she were dead. I wish I were her.

I finally stop in the middle of West Brompton as I reach a building with the words 'THE ECHELON' etched in gold above the entrance. My small Beetle looks out of place parked in between a Ferrari and a Porsche in this fucking town. I wouldn't be surprised if I came out and found that it's been towed away.

I need to become a billionaire. Fast.

I pull down the mirror and fix my makeup - my car already looks like it belongs to a hobo, I can't walk in there looking like one as well. Right at that moment, my mobile buzzes in the passenger seat and I move to grab it.