It’s not my choice, having to shower in my office every day. It’s not fun, tumbling out of bed and driving fifteen kilometres before the obligatory shit, shower and shave.
This is because I don’t have running water at home, and electricity supply is patchy at best. Now, I usually don’t have a problem with having to perform my ablutions in the office; in fact, there’s no comparing a bucket-wash to that feeling when a warm jet first hits you full in the face. Hot water – good.
Problem; I think I’m getting old. I pack my clothes bag after falling punch-drunk out of bed, and that’s never a good idea cos I always forget something. Usually it’s underwear, which isn’t an issue cos you know a brother’s gotta let it hang sometimes. I mean, the meat and two veg need a holiday, you know? No hay problema senor.
But today I left my socks behind. I’m wearing a formal shirt, cord pants and … dodgy Levi flip-flops that were white at some point but are now just kinda dirty cream wiv brown splodges. Fuck.
Where’s the nearest clothing store?