The week starting Monday 25th of January progressed at the usual rate; neither quicker, nor slower than any normal week. Ashley was still somewhat depressed by the perceived lackadaisical pace of the week.
“I’ll get you, time!” he schemed to himself, although there was no fist wave so we can safely assume that he wouldn’t.
The main problem was his business venture, or lack thereof. Everything was going well according to the business plan albeit at its own glacial pace, almost as though it had dragged the week down to its speed. Watching and knowing what was happening, and despite this being completely unable to find a way to fix things was bringing him down. He had a plenitude of ideas, but the implementation — as often is the case — was the hard part.
He was long past second thoughts, indeed the amount of thoughts he’d had would probably require some rounding and an exponential notation to express on paper, but nevertheless Ashley was a stubborn ass and any thought of deserting his fledgling business was akin to treason. Very delicious treason. More like treacle, really.
But nay, he would stick with it until the heavens aligned and he was presented with an opportunity too good to ignore. An opportunity that would elevate him out of the slums and into a house with real walls and doors and silver-lined porcelain. One day he would be free to live among the beautiful people once more, and frolic in the consumer wastelands and explore the urban canyons of excess.
One day. In the mean time he’ll sit by and write wanky prose in the third person because he doesn’t have a door and has been kept up all night and now can’t sleep even though he has to be up in five hours. Sometimes you get everything you deserve.
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