Word Count: 161
It’s done. I have become one of them.
When did it happen? I can’t put my finger on it. A few years ago it would have been, “Whatever; yeah; so what?”. Today it was A Thing. A Thing to talk about. At least, I suppose, I have noticed. This could have passed without me realising. I could have made the transition from Us to Them without a bat of an eyelid, and that would have been very anticlimactic. It still is.
The blinds-man left the conservatory in a mess; footprints on the rug, sofa misaligned, rubbish pushing the cushions out of pattern and spare, criss-crossed material a fallen, bloodless flag for England. I phoned mum to let her know he’d finished – “What’s it like?”, she wanted to know. Blinds are fine, I said. But he’s left the conservatory in an absolute state.
Us to Them. Nonchalance to petty observation.
There’s nothing to write about, so why am I writing about it?