Monday morning, 7.00am. Time to get up for work.

I crawl out of bed and take a drink from the goldfish tank. (The fish smiles a lot more since I filled it with vodka)

I peel my underpants off the bathroom wall, as I clean my teeth. A pair of socks crawl within range and a brief struggle erupts.

10 minutes later I'm dressed and in the kitchen picking dead wasps out of the strawberry jam and picking the green bits of the bread. I make myself some toast and open the bottle of breakfast beer.

I leave the flat dead on 7.30am and head for the bus stop. I'm looking good today, I've got my best suit on and I've polished my shoes. I twist the cap of my hip flask and talk a sip of the bourbon/rum/gin mixture I call "Holy s---!"

The bus arrives and I climb on. The driver gives me an odd look, but it won't bother me today (my analyst would be proud of this side of myself, he's always saying that I have a good nature and that people don't take the time to really understand me. Mind you, that was before his unfortunate accident. I'll never know how he got both his testicles into that electric pencil sharpener)

I amuse myself by waving at passers by and talking to myself. The journey passes quickly and I arrive at work refreshed and confident. The driver gives me that same look as I alight from his bus. Maybe he's a bit strange. My mother always warned me about 'strange' men. That was before she had her sex change though.

I walk through the office door at precisely 7:58am and walk towards the lift. A casual nod to the pretty girl on reception and I enter the lift. A young man in a pinstripe suit joins me.

"I really hope the lift does'nt get stuck" I say, twitching my head and showing a lot of teeth.

"Hmmpphh" he says, and hides behind his newspaper.

I always get nervous in lifts. I think it was the time I got stuck for 3 days with 12 other people. We all picked a least favourite part of our body and started to eat it. I insisted we share the bits, they had to agree I had the gun.

The lift stops at my floor and I get out. As always I'm slightly overcome as the sound of a working office fills my ears. The morning crys of "Oh, no not him again" and " Oh s---, that nutters back, I hope he did'nt eat anyone this time" are music to my ears . . . .

Wait a minute, something is'nt right.

Then I realise . . . .

I don't work here. I don't even have a job. I reach for my flask of "Holy s---" and drain it.

Then I reach for the gun. My analyst says I use the gun as a penis image. I say I use it because I want to hurt people. I think everyone does, its just self- control that stops us. Unfortunately my self-control is a little screwed up. I squeeze the trigger and the bodies begin their erotic dance . . . .

And . . . .

And . . . . .

And . . . . . .

I crawl out of bed and take a drink from the goldfish tank. (The fish smiles a lot more since I filled it with vodka) . . . . .

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