Day 1.

            The sun is shining.  The birds are singing.  White fluffy clouds drift lazily through the sky like snow-covered islands.  A cat seems to be eating my face.

            I don’t like events these days.  It used to be so much simpler.  I would go through life without anything particularly annoying happening.  Then I hit that leprechaun with my car. 

            Ah, no… correction… it appears to be a squirrel.  I don’t think it’s a cat eating my face either…  I think it’s cancer… no… wait… it’s a cat.  Why is there a cat in my car? 
           
            I pry the cat off my face and flip it out of the window under a passing eighteen-wheeler.  The squirrel continues slowly sliding down the windscreen until I launch it through the air with a flick of the wipers.

            Life hasn’t been particularly good for a while. 

            This is why I’m delivering pizzas.

            The only good part about working where I do is that it’s too unsafe to ride a scooter.  Local youths routinely engage passing riders with improvised siege weaponry.  One Friday I got hit in the neck by a wheelie-bin hurled by a trebuchet.

            The job isn’t particularly hard.  Only one person in the area can afford the extravagant ten pound price-tag of our pizza.  The company saves a fortune on GPS systems by just painting a line on the road leading to The Customer’s house.

            Sadly this isn’t a post-apocalyptic wasteland.  It’s just bad urban planning.

            Those aren’t mutants.  They’re the result of poverty breeding with ugly. 

            The Customer orders one pizza a night.  I think he mainly does it to show off to his neighbours.  I get twenty-nine minutes to deliver the pizza due to our company’s policy of undercutting an opposition that only exists on fraudulent menus.  Even if The Customer decides to try the alternative company for a change he ends up getting our usual shitty pizza.  We just tear the lid off the box.

            When not delivering The Pizza I spend my work day sitting in a six by six room that has no windows and can only be entered via a complex security system.  The system draws a quart of my blood every day to perform DNA analysis and drug testing.  I often stay at work for up to a week at a time because my doctor warned me against dying.  My ex-wife actively encourages it.

            I make just under the price of a pizza every week.  The Customer doesn’t tip.  The only food I can eat without leaving the building is pizza.  I owe the boss over ten thousand pounds.

            I’d really like to die now.

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