"Murphy! Darkholme!" A furious roar jolted him awake. "Dozing off at work! Bonus docked! Lazybones! Have you finished writing your replies?"
In the Pest Office, Murphy opened his eyes. Before him was a mountain of letters.
Gnomes, Doxies, Imps...
Bang! A ball-shaped mountain of flesh sat down in front of him, thick lips spraying spittle as they smacked on and on without stopping.
He saw his own reflection in the other person's eyes.
Pale, frail, hair a tangled mess, heavy dark circles under his eyes—he looked like he'd cultivated immortality through liver failure until his kidneys gave out.
He could give Alex a run for his money...
What was I doing here? Why did I have to do this boring job?
Why did I have to listen to this ugly woman nag?
He wanted to stand up.
Suddenly, a heavy pressure surged over him.
Didn't you want your job? Didn't you want to live your life? How would you earn money? Wouldn't you pay the mortgage? What would your parents say? What would your relatives think? Would you still go to the class reunion?
"You can't take a single step without money."
"Just bear with it. Bear with it and it'll pass."
"Everyone gets through it like this. Make it through these few years and it'll be fine."
"Young people ought to endure a little hardship."
"Do you know how hard it is to make money these days? It's good enough if you can scrape by, and you still don't know how to appreciate it."
"Do you have a house? Do you have a car? How many digits is your salary?"
"Sorry, I don't like men with no ambition."
Heh.
Bang! At some point, Murphy had stood up and smashed his fist into that ball of flesh's face.
"Go fuck