Prose, S.S.B

Chapter 20

This morning Gregory folded his clothes neatly in the basket. They were fresh off the line and he then decided to make sure that everything else that he did, that morning, involved some of sort of cleaning. If he were to be totally truthful…he hated cleaning up. It was a personal nightmare. It felt like he brain was slowly eroding away with each menial step he continued to take. Although he’d now learnt that phrase “Someone’s got to do it”. It rang in his head like an equally annoying alarm clock.

While cleaning up his radio blurted out Bon Jovi’s song, Living on a Prayer. Although whenever the chorus came he bellowed out “aaaah-ha living on my owe-hone”. It seemed to comfort him now that he was making his own way in the world. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he was starting to like some of the choices he was starting to make.

“Fuck you.”

The following song was a Katie Perry song, and a pet hate. He abruptly turned off the radio, and continued to shuffle through his pairs of socks. Since cleaning up and washing up after himself, he’d started becoming a lot more forgiving with certain knit-picks he’d had in the past. For example, he’d had an issue with socks. Gregory was by no means a perfectionist, although socks had started to wander into that category. Gregory had had the belief that socks had to match…no matter what If he ever saw some forgetful person wearing to different kinds; he’d mentally berate them for being so sloppy and untidy.

Since he’d moved out of the house, a lot of Mr. Tweedle’s opinions had begun to change. Unfortunately the subject of socks was one of them. This is because he simply couldn’t be arsed to fold them up so they would look pretty for a week or two. There wasn’t enjoy time in the day to spend an extra twenty minutes, going through the of sock folding. Instead Gregory he came up with a much better idea. The idea was to have a sock bucket. One little bin where you clean the clean little soldiers ready to be unleashed upon the world. It was far more creative, not to mention that everyday now had an element of surprise in it.

Gregory threw everything in his sock bucket, and left. He had business to do.

Β 

PhilosopherPoet

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