The Trojan boy

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Avedissian lay in bed and looked up at the chink of light that appeared in the vee of the curtains. Another day was dawning, another pointless, mindless day when he would go out and try to persuade people to buy products that they did not want and that he did not believe in anyway. What was the point of it all? he wondered, but he had wondered that every morning for the past two years. His next thought was to consider how many gins he had downed the previous evening, and then to feel depressed when he remembered. He got up and padded to the bathroom.

The milk he poured over his cornflakes was a little sour but he pretended not to notice until his palate threatened action if he were to go on with the charade. He emptied the contents of the plate into the bin and settled for coffee. Why didn't he have a system, he asked himself, a system for buying groceries? It wouldn't take much effort to compose a shopping list; after all, he lived alone and his tastes were simple enough.

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