“He looked in the fridge at lunch and spied a Kit Kat bar belonging to someone else in the office. He considered stealing it before he stopped himself.
“I’m not that hungry,” he thought.
“Don’t just leave it,” whispered the beard, voice now past adolescence. Jude reached for it again, threw it to the ground, and stepped on it for no reason other than to peeve the owner. He put it back into the fridge with a sinister grin on his face.”
The plughole was growing tiresome of this menace, this looming eye over it, watching, it’s long neck cocked out, waiting for something to happen. The tap had spent every day since installation spying (maybe that’s too subtle a word) on the plughole.
When an idea strikes, I become a possessed man. My mind can think of nothing else, I must write it down. I tell everyone how excited I am. If they didn’t notice by my visible shaking. I then have a brainstorm, and try to turn this idea into a fruitious and viable concept. something I…