Its reasonable observation to note that those around me are merely trying to over stress their looks of happiness, of perfect tuned bodies and minds, receptive to each other. They mistake it for cynicism, hating me, my life, my imperfect mind and best avoided body.

As I walk to work, I see a man looking in a shop window. The man is wearing a dark suit, he carries with him a tan leather briefcase and an umbrella. I think of his life, and for once I can feel proud that I do at least hold some individuality. I don't want to leave my economy self built bedroom in a morning, tread the thick pile of my glorious pink carpet and step into the instant luxury of a gas heated shower. I don't want his borrowed, mortgaged life, when my own is so much better, no mortgage, no luxury, but a good shower whenever it rains and the roof allows it.

I see him looking, wondering what next in his credited lifestyle, how can he next jump into his neck in the mire of debts? He is scrutinising expensive consumer goods. It could be watches, perhaps, or HIFIs or even cameras. I do not know, I hate the shops anyway.

He doesn't look up as I approach him. Not even a glance in my direction, as he really appears to be totally absorbed in what he is looking at. No-one else is here, which is odd, though welcome. The advantage of being early for work, I think for myself.

The man is smartly dressed, evidently with some degree of expense, although it seems to me that it is all for effect with nothing valued for what it really is. He puts his hand up to the glass, to shield the early morning light and allow him to see the designer product inside. His jacket cuff falls slightly to reveals his watch, apparently a Rolex.

I just knew that the cheapskate bastard had bought a fake. I hate it when people try to fool us like that.

He steps back, evidently to get a better view of expensive electronics. I move myself, first attracting his attention as I tap him from behind on the shoulder. As he turns, I lunge, twisting the knife which I had concealed with my daily newspaper deep into his stomach. He doubles with pain, and I see my second opportunity, to make him pay for his deceit. Success.

His head meets the glass and the window flexes but does not break. It is amazing just how safe the shop windows can be; I'm hope that he appreciates this, as it takes an awful lot of effort for me to finally persuade the glass to shatter. There is a sickening crunch. Rolex man falls, taking with him the majority of the window display, and they land together across the bottom of the window, shelving racks falling backwards towards the shop. For a moment I am concerned, but no alarms go off, and so all seems well.

I look down to admire my handiwork and realise for the first time the extent of my disorientation. I appear to have committed a bit of a faux pas; it is the shop where I work, and this gives me the most annoyance of all, for now I will have to spend the day clearing up the bloody mess.

Amended 1 May 2005