To Vincent.

He sat in a dusty corner of the ground floor. The glaze of his rimless spectacles covered his dark circles. The desk did a better job of hiding his stained shirt. Had she seen him as he spilt a little of the horrible dal his wife had made?




He sat in a dusty corner of the ground floor. Barely noticed by anyone but the maid who rudely asked him to lift his legs as she swept the loneliness from beneath him.



He liked his dusty corner on the ground floor. It was his kingdom. His little fort. A last refuge for a man frustrated with the tumultous torment of a middle class life.



Everyday Vincent would be the first to arrive. His life was a blur of accounts, purchase orders and excel sheets.



Everyday Vincent was the last to leave. He left reluctantly, retreating into the little shit-hole they called home. He returned to a wife who was as cold as revenge, both in and out of bed.He returned to an ungrateful bastard he called son. He returned - to nothing.



Vincent was miserable.