Every day he comes home bone tired. The weight he carries threatening to break him in two, knees creaking like a dry old tree fighting for balance against the wind.
He unloads it all on the bed his laptop, the expensive watch that cost an arm.
He even undresses, belly flopping over the Calvin Klein around his waist, scatters his clothes all over the floor and bed like confetti.

He lets it all go the incessant phone ring the cold air-conditioned office, the clatter of keyboard keys like a hundred clicking pens, his cell’s constant message pings.

Heaves and unloads his hangover vomits the petty office politics, words meant to cut, words that acquiesce to the looting of his dignity. Scatters his shame on the floor and bed like ash.

Shakes off the envy, the need to spend, to consume, like water from his hands. He unravels his very being lets himself fall onto the bed melts into it till finally he falls, flailing, into sleep.