Car Park Shuffle

As I sit down to start today’s writings a friend of mine from university posts on Facebook: It seems as though the universe is telling me to do porn :( it seems by the law of averages this was bound to happen. Besides the porn stars that I know who are paid to get naked, it’s surprising that I haven’t seen  I know through Readers’ Wives or the internet. Now with phones as good as any camera the sheer number of naked photos of people on this planet is inconceivable. Well, that is a thought to consider. I’m pretty sure everyone has a naughty photo somewhere.

At work I’m surrounded by naked bodies of all sorts. From the lithe to the morbidly oversized. Barely legal to old and senile. Male and female. For the first week or so I went through a period of adjustment. The exposure to such volumes of nudity play on the mind. A short trip across the supermarket car park sees all those folk in all their beauty. Thankfully, I found that the sixth sense could be harnessed, and switched off the majority of the time. Had it not, I would not be sat at my computer typing this, rather permanently engaged in a masturbatory fit behind a Renault Megane.

So I guess I’d better tell you a little about me. I’m in my late 20s, I’m British, I’m skinny, I smoke too much pot, I play the guitar, I am in love with my girlfriend of almost five years. Things are pretty good when I look at it like that. But then it’s not always that good in my head. Me and my girl were on a bus the other week and after a short argument we stumbled upon the fact that I could be bi-polar. I could just be a twat.

I can’t say my line of work is the one I ever imagined I would end up in. I can’t really say that I’m one of those lucky folks that know their purpose in life. Although, I can say the thought did cross my mind when I found my first stash, in a bush as standard. But then, I'm pretty sure plenty of thoughts crossed my mind that day, like: why do tomatoes taste gross and where does fluff come from? It would be a little rash to suggest 18 years down the line that would be my line of work. But then little rashes are a common occurrence. All I know is it’s not where I want to end up. Of course there is a satisfaction working within the industry that has captured my attention for so long. But there's not a great deal of money in it. And by my flip-flopping logic and personal goals, it's not really about the money. But it is. I'd like enough to live comfortably like the middle class little shit that I've been brought up to be. It just seems right now. There's not a great deal of it for the guy that sticks the magazines together.