Our Souls Too Fragile.

Stepping down onto the Metro platform the human feces and urine I am immediately presented with could be taken as a metaphor for society generally or a harbinger of the day ahead, but in either case it gives me a moment to pause and to possibly regret I did not do more legwork in securing the self-driven car of a week and a half back, but it is never a good idea to dog-pile regret onto life's little missteps especially if that misstep is on the platform getting you to the office.

Once at work I am bombarded, I mean utterly harangued, by no fewer than two emails providing clarification, seeking clarification, requesting information, in a word, harassing. This prompts me to take a stroll around the floor to gather myself and in the process I lock myself out of my own office because security and shit. It is too early to alert anyone so I just stew and wait for one of the office animals to arrive. I do this rather unenthusiastic since the moment one of them arrive is the moment I can sit down to a screen full of more bullshit.

The only tender mercy at a time like that is the certainty that the humongous amalgamation of flesh and bone that is Hungryman will certainly not be shifting his weight anywhere near the office soon.

I remember why he is called Hungryman. It is due to his penchant for consuming approximately 9,400 calories worth of Hungryman frozen dinners on a daily basis. Cooking is ladies work and he'd come to work in heels before bringing anything called a 'left-over' into the office in a carefully curated piece of vintage Tupperware. Jesus Christ Washington.

I remember this because yesterday I caught a glimpse of him provisioning himself. He was in the office kitchen with a hefty bag sized Target bag and it was filled to the brim with such figure slimming items as a half gallon of whole-animal milk (organic), Hungryman Select, Hungryman Extra, and Hungryman Hefty Bites. I just took a seat a stared at him and let my quiet and furious judgment just wash right over to him. He could strangle a pod of sea turtles with that plastic single-use earth-raping abomination.

For the Hungryman there is never and I mean never a bad time to consume a plate of steak strips or *Mesquite Flavored Chicken Fried Chicken [sic] or some such plastic trencher piled with the 'kind of food guys like' [sic]. And I may not know the delights of a Grilled Beef Patty [sic] first thing in the morning, but I certainly know what it is like to have the aroma rape ones nostrils while trying to enjoy coffee, fruit and the puzzle.

And through the prism of hindsight the vision of human feces of the platform begins to resonate.