He took his time twisting on his blue tie, staring at himself in the mirror. It was Wednesday — that’s why he was wearing blue. Always blue on Wednesdays. He sighed, hearing that last sentence in his head. Pathetic.
Did he have the energy for another one of these? Did he have what it took to swallow and move forward with one more day — to plaster on that innocuous smile and run through his usual, “Excuse me,” “Mmhmm,” “Of course,” “Thank you,” “Yes sir,” with all the characters in the depressing sitcom of his life? He wasn’t sure.
And as he looked at himself in the mirror more closely, he realized his hairline seemed to have receded even further overnight. His forehead shone like a cheap fluorescent light. Is this how it’d keep going? Until he died, bald and smiling, at his desk?
The thought suddenly overtook him with fury. Fuck you, he snarled at the mirror, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Himself? The rest of the world? God? He balled up his fist, although even he knew he wouldn’t throw a punch. Or would he?
Before he could decide, he heard his oatmeal beep downstairs. He pulled the blue tie off his neck, grabbed the red one from the top of the closet door and went to go get his breakfast.