Useless bag of crap

He's one. You can tell be the way he swaggers down the platform eating that jelly doughnut, it's viscous innards oozing onto the tips of his pudgy fingers. I wonder if a woman has ever let those fingers near her cunt. I doubt it. Not without money up front. See the way he studies the tube map in a disinterested fashion? That's the habit of someone who knows where their going but can't stand to stare into the middle distance, afraid of catching someone's eye. I'll bet in his head he's imagining some impropiety he's planning to commit later. Look at him - suckling his jam covered fingers, slightly trembling, like he were sucking the toenail of some cheap whore. I'll bet he's some quack. Calls himself an IT specialist when really he's the guy who does the nightshift in some fancy office tower cleaning keyboards, peeling off stickers and other crap those city boys leave cluttering their computer stations. I'll bet if he doesn't leave them sparkling he gets hauled into the office and belittled by the Boss man just like his father used to, before he died of lung cancer. The father who made sure he knew from an early age what a useless bag of crap he is at everything. I'll bet he lies in bed at night dreaming of the day he'll get revenge by droping his sorry ass in front of a Waterloo & City train making all those self-important office twats late for their morning meetings.

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Written by Kelli