Load the Cards (2/2) By Sean Davey

(1/2), (2/2).

So, the cards come out of this box, they go through the machine, and back down the belt, and then I put them back in another box. I only move to get more cards, or stack the boxes on pallets. That's it. The machine goes 24 hours a day. 364 days a year.(Every day except Christmas Day, the irony is lost on none of the staff.) Constantly putting blobs of glitter on Christmas cards. I suddenly think about standing here on New Years Day morning, making more cards. And I decide that will NEVER happen. Dave comes over, and tells me something about clocking out, the noise of the machines drown out everything he says, but, he talks too fast anyway. I put it down to his army days, barking out all those orders, just changed his whole way of communicating forever.

I try and watch his mouth, but after a while im just looking at his lips moving. My head nods up and down and I smile like I understand, but I just want him to go away. He smells a little funny, and I place the smell as urine. My head wanders to Dave, sitting at home in his own piss. Masturbating about his army days, mourning his early retirement, taking a monkey job to top up the huge state pension. A pension to punt with, oh now don't think its hasn't been done.

Because it probably being done right now reader. Somewhere, in at least one casino in this country, some old granny or granddad has just blown the fucking lot. The pension, the savings, the life insurance. Its all been punted, and if I know them as well as I think I do, they're still smiling, still hobbling around talking to all their "casino buddies" , who wont stop them punting everything away, but will judge them for doing it, the minute they've left the building. Believe me, this shit happens, and is happening, and don't you dare think it isn't.

So he's talking at me, and I keep smiling, and nodding and I laugh a little when he finishes a sentence. Just hoping he was saying something amusing. Not telling me about his dieing mother, cancer ridden and helpless. How he desperately wanted to fulfill her dieing wish, but never could. Because if he was saying that, and I smile, nod and laugh at him all along, god knows what he'd do to me. Tie me up, strip me down, blindfold and ball-gag me, and have me set up for the firing squad. Jesus, could he do that? He was in the army… no?

And I realize my minds wandering. I'll get some more cards.

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