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Exposition

#draft

Even seated in that annoyingly plush swivel chair, he towered over me. His air of authority covering the room like an oppressive smog. Even though I was the one invited, i still felt in some weird way that I was intruding on him and his space.

When he'd asked me to meet to discuss potentially becoming a 'client' at his agency I had to say that I didn't expect him to seem so professional the building itself to seem so corporate....

At best, the guy probably felt bad for me or wanted to use the "clout" surrounding my accent in some bizarre marketing campaign. Not that's I'd blame him, I'm definitely the ideal charity case, victim of a violent crime, disabled, amnesiac, the works. It probably got his PR teams philanthropic dick hard to think they were helping the brain damaged sad sack get back on his feet. (well maybe that's a poor choice of words, you know given the wheelchair) but nonetheless he was offering something I definitely wasn't going to refuse. Worthwhile employment.

Ever since my discharge I'd been mostly coasting by on my government allowance so having the chance to gain a bit more financial independence, income and just having something else to do besides sulk about my current predicament would defined be a welcome change.

Halfway through my meeting with Mr Dubray I somehow worked up the courage to cut through his prattling about release forms and pedantic explaining of corporate law to ask my first question, "what am I expected to do?". Which in fairness was pretty fucking pertinent to this discussion.

He paused for a moment when I said that, adjusting his town to be slower and smiled a wide smile. Dick head. "You will help us out with some adverts and you will be filmed with products! When people see ads-" oh that tone made my blood boil. "I'm familiar with the concept of advertising mr Dubray" I tried to say in with my most monotone inflection. Infuriation aside, I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth however I didn't want to antagonise him.

"Of course you are!" He replied apologetically.
"I apologise for my tone"

I suppressed a sign and smiled at him making a point to look him in his cold grey eyes. "Oh no, no need to be sorry" I said begrudgingly, really feeling the effort to force my lips and tongue to make that string of words.

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I took the bus home after the meeting clutching my bag to my back pack to my chest. The apartment I was renting was pretty far from the studio so for the first few trips to meet with the 'agent' I had to take the shuttle bus accords town. Oh god how I hated it, every stimuli on the rattling death trap masquerading as "suitable public transport" was a reminder of my situation. I may not know much but I knew i could drive, that I'd driven before.

Maybe I didn't know when I got my license, what I'd been driving to or the make and Color of the car I was in but I knew, I knew how to drive. Unfortunately on paper though, my makeshift identity Lyle Mannings did not.

Legally under that name there was no registered licence. Not that there was even a registered birth certificate either though. They were firm on it, retake the test and get the license again. Bureaucracy at its finest. Not only did I have to be reminded of my lack of any accurate legal identification but also had to deal with the irritation of watching other travellers look at me sideways as I ascended up the loud mechanical ramp to the top of the bus until their ape like pattern recognition skills kicked in. Yeah I was that guy. The one from new years "incident", thankfully a lot of people had the sense to leave me alone but the few that didn't were a different story all together...

Jesus it was hard to think we were even from the same species. Treating me like some sort of kardashian, like my attack was the newest album release. I bemoaned that regrettable event every day. not just for the (obviously) life altering consequences but also because people felt inclined to offer their own comments on it. "It looked real bad" , "feel terrible man", "we've got a real crime problem in this country man."

I wish I could behead them all. Though it was these idiots that allowed me to get the position as a client at Dubray studios. Maybe that was my vindication that their idiocy in some roundabout way is fuelling me and my newfound lifestyle. Swings and roundabouts..

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When I got home I went straight to the fridge for an energy drink, pushing myself around all day is pretty rough on the old energy levels. I hadn't really gotten out much after I moved in here so today was kind of an outlier of sorts movement wise. But soon that was all going to change.

I had a job now, I'll probably do some cat food commercials and then be done with it when the news cycle flips and people become disinterested in me. But thus is life.

Sitting on the couch I loaded up my ps4, looking for sweet reprieve from it all before I was traitorously interrupted by a knock on the door from that old woman down the hall Gladice. I waited for a few seconds hoping she'd go away but she wouldn't relent so eventually I had to push myself up and back into the chair and move myself over to the door. When I opened it I was hit with the smell of cheap perfume and cat food... hags like here were definitely the target audience for the sort of adverts I'd likely be made do.

She smiled at me, showing her all the teeth in her mouth and handed me some envelopes. "Your mail deary, it seems it's been coming to my door which is awful strange. I had to make sure you got it, I'm downstairs the apartment below yours so I'm not exactly sure where the mixup is coming from. The post around here has always been reliable why ever since I moved in 2004 I've always received what I'm due swiftly! Though things have gone hill since"

I couldn't listen to any more of it. So I just zoned out and let her talk, this post mixup must have been the most exciting event in her life because she just went on and on and on about it. While she spoke I looked down at the envelopes the front of it hand written. That's certainly unusual... I couldn't think of anyone possibly writing letters to me, wait unless!

"Thank you for bringing this to me. I'll go read it right now" and then I shut the door. Sat down at the table and tore the top of the letter open with my teeth.

"Hello BYTZ"

What?