Firstly, what you have to understand is that the entire concept of time is purely abstract; with that in mind, why is everything in we do in life subjected to something that pre-mankind, didn’t really exist, strictly speaking?

Don’t misinterpret me, it’s a useful concept and all. Just something to think about.

I’m Eugene. Eugene Hemingway. Nice to meet you. I’m the guy you pass on the street most every day, paying me as much attention as you would a minor change in wind direction.

This is the story of the world according to me- Eugene. Remember? The guy from earlier?

Like the vast majority of folks, I was born into a working class family. We had more cracks than an unkempt Ming vase.

Merely being myself meant that I was never able to hold down even a shitty job for more than a few weeks at a time, so it was circumstance that forced me to be part of the ‘family business’; the manufacturing of retail packaging and supplies.

Bring back National Service I say because each day was more mundane than sorting the pips in an apple according to size and shade of brown. Having said that it beat living off state welfare.

Each day began as you can imagine: my barely functioning alarm clock did it’s thing (barely functioning due to its daily throwing against he wall), I’d then spend the next 5-10 minutes questioning whether I actually needed a job to survive, then the epiphany:

Yes you need a job. You’re late. Haul ass!

Then came the intrepid exploration to locate the lesser seen bunch of keys. I always left them in the exact same spot.

Always in the bowl on the hardwood table not two metres from the front door. I’m not sure why I always seemed to lose track of their location, but the day just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t go through the daily fiasco.

After pretending to be Indiana Jones in ‘The Temple of Lost Keys’, the good old abstract concept told me that I was late… again: an offence in which if continued, would result in the foreman (my father) and I having “a little chat”.

It was never little. Ever.

No matter which morning circumstance was the one that was going to result in my tardiness, there was always plenty of time to visit the coffee shop.

Always plenty of time to dawdle looking at the cakes that I never bought, place my hands on my hips and squint at the menu behind the counter and pretend that I wasn’t going to order the same Skinny Latte that I did everyday.

Above all, the real reason I took forever buying a drink that would be cold by the time I eventually sat down at my desk, was Elizabeth- my fiery barista maestro.

Unless Elizabeth served me my beverage, I would continue to squint at the menu with my mouth slightly open.

If by this point you’re wondering whether I ever made it to work, sadly I did.

“Good afternoon Eugene” says everyone in the office. It was quite funny the first few hundred times. Most days when someone sarcastically eluded to the fact I was late I felt like putting a marital aid in their pigeon holes with a note reading ‘Love Mom’

10 Years this was my routine. 10 Years that just flitted away so fast. A whole decade of my life that I’m very unlikely to get back.

Very unlikely, but not impossible- and then just as fast as the years passed, it happened…

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