What’s the Point?


- a single item or detail in an extended discussion, list, or text: the main points of the Edinburgh agreement.

God, it’s miserable outside! Everything is just so grey. That bloody sky and its self righteous ‘omnipresence’. The fucking buildings and their ‘brutal’ concrete aesthetic (like that is supposed to mean something). Even the people, ferreting around in search of a Costa, Starbucks — or god-knows-what other capitalist drain their coffee is filtered through — genuinely seem to all be wearing long, grey coats. Like they are all there simply to underline the excruciating monotony that I can so easily experience by staring out of this stupid, fucking, window.


Why am I staring out of it, well, other than the fact that the inside of this office is equally depressing?. . . I suppose the outside world does have moving parts. Rain and. . .

“Ieuan. . .”

. . . those little coffee moguls I view with such distaste.

“For fucks sake Ieuan, I’ll leave your coffee here then.”

“Oh, sorry, I was a million miles away.”

“No kidding.”

Actually, I am kidding. I wasn’t a million miles away at all. Having metaphorically escaped through a small window, that in reality, I probably couldn’t even fit through. Where I was, was less than twenty meters down the road in a place I’d despise even more than my current location.

This coffee isn’t too bad though. Obviously it tastes a little bit like hypocrisy, but I bet who ever makes it even pays tax. In fact, no. I bet whoever actually ‘makes’ it, in all likelihood, doesn’t pay tax. It’s probably some small, Argentine chap, in charge of a questionably ‘fair-trade’ workforce who keeps his currency in a mattress. That said, Sam actually made the the liquid I am drinking, and as far as I’m aware, he does pay tax. So all in all, I probably won’t lose too much sleep over it, that is of course unless I’m feeling particularly wild and drink a cup after 9pm.

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