I have a job now. It it’s at a furniture warehouse at a massive factory outlet. A minor-Mecca that fills many car park’s in the day.
And retches them out at 6 pm.
The people all swirl round 30 acres of dreams. Churning out dockets. And vouchers. And credit cards.
I wheel my trolly down a corridor. Each time, a chair, a table, maybe a bed.
Flat packed.
Condensed and minimal.
I can drag the boxes if I want to.
I only do when the sound of the dragging is minimal. And the eyes of the master are away. I need this job.
I keep my trolly steady. I deliver the average priced, flat packed furniture.
All the 8 carat people.
Young wedding rings, made up death. 50k, 60k, 80k. Ottomans, Indonesian plastic couches and frosted glass w/chrome. Black or pewter.
Fastback or sedan. A salesman in a hatchback. No need to explain yourself. You have your six piece, self-assembly in Croc Brown.
I enjoyed seeing their smiles as the light aircraft flew over them. As the weather flew in over the north west. Clouds and rays of light. Beautiful.
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