The Precariat

The Precariat

In photographs he is ill-fitting, eyes darting to the edge of the frame, seeking escape. The world and its habits are a mystery to him. He trips on the cuffs of his trousers. A tie snakes around his neck, tight coils restricting his breathing.

Panic attacks rise up in the most ordinary of places, not visible to the eye of another. Sweat trickles down his back. He is unhooked from reality.

Anger seeps out of him when he least expects it but most often in traffic. He must tamp it down with private curses, weed, irrational hatred of new car owners.

Stuffs clenched fists into his pockets. Moves each limb forwards, sideways, back. Turns the key in the ignition. Tax is out. Insurance looms. NCT long overdue.

Failure beckons. A soft pavement to land on, a hiding place.

In the mirror each morning, he has to check if he still exists.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s