Final Frontiers

1

I take off my uniform as soon as I step through the door. I leave my dark blue cargo's on and exchange my stained uniform top for a more comfortable cropped tank, You can see my tattoo this way. I look in the mirror and stroke my head. I still have to get used to the shaved head. We are not allowed to have long hair at this job, if you would want it at all, since it would get in the way and distract you, or others in your workspace. We're not allowed to wear make-up either, for that matter. But the job pays well and it is a way of getting by. The simplicity somewhat provokes me but then I agreed to it voluntarily.
My train of thought is disturbed by the sudden smell of the day old coffee goo. I hadn't noticed it before, but now it stands out like hell, leaving me with a strange nauseous feeling and a sort of dizziness. I walk to the kitchen and scoop out the coffee grounds. Subsequently I walk to the cabinet with the whisky and pour some in a relatively clean glass. I sit down at the wooden chair next to the window as I light up a Winston. I look out the window and a sudden feeling of warmth and content, caused by the alcohol combined with the smell of tobacco and the fresh night air. Outside the enormous billboards light up the city and the hoovers swish through the streets. I look up. One day I'll be up there, I know it. I'm good enough, I'm motivated enough. One day.