I felt like starting to write stuff like fiction like stuff today. Let me know at what point during the words that follow your eyes passed out with boredom. Or you could just give me feedback. Whatever. But really, do. Please. Thank you. Would you read this hypothetical novel? Of course you wouldn't. Cue me trying to be funny/surreal/witty (oh and it's about a videogame store and indie videogame making and other stuff. I just haven't got to those bits yet. And the second bit of these bits is rushed and stuff).

Yes, right then

He was, very, disconcerting, probably. He hated officey places and this office was pretty officey so he hated it. He looked down at his unlaced trainers, askew on the officey office floor and thought for a second he saw an ant crawl in there. But it was just one of those specks you get, like the big specks after a camera flashes, and then you try and look at it but it runs away. He heard a clock tick-tockling. That was annoying so he took the opportunity to look up and find it. Outside was far too bright, a lot brighter than he remembered it supposed to being outside, and the part of his brain responsible for keeping him awake took offense.

The clock itself was one of those ones that went backwards, with the purpose of marketing alcohol, alluding to the frivolous, bewildering nature of inebriation. While he could relate to the anticlockwise clock it was for this exact reason he hated it. What the hell time is it supposed to be? Ten to six, presumably, but it'll take him another few minutes of observation to build up enough evidence to fully support this assertion, as he sticks a mop of fringe back further up his face, as that wasn't going to assist the investigation at all.

The trick with those specks is to keep looking straight ahead and get it just in the corner of your eye. Trick the little blighter, then it doesn't move. But now the pen on the desk is going all out of focus, and there's two of it. Damn. This room smells of coffee. Are you supposed to wear suits at interviews? He was an interviewee, so he was wondering.

The intervieweee sat stiff at the receiving end of a stout wee man with one of those bloody juvenile, shiny Alienware laptops with all the little lights and the little man on the front. The arsehole. Surprising he hasn't put the Apple sticker you get with your iPod on it. The owners of Alienware laptops have no friends. He probably still drinks milkshake and dreams of owning a Ferrari. A red one. Like all of those arseholes, with the ambition and cool of a ten year old paraplegic. The arseholes. He was an interviewer, so naturally it was convienient for him to be an arsehole in the unwilling intervieweeee's universe. He wanted a job, really he did, or at least he wants money and something to do. Just not today or all weekend.

All of this guy's hair is on his neck, he's wearing one of those T-shirts, those T-shirts (this one says 'Itsa me, Sparticus!'), and glasses for +10 IQ points. He's tappiting something on that Alienwank (hurr) and looking all stern and stuff.

"So Maxwell," said him.

"Yeh, Max." said he.

"Can I call you Max?" Interviewerr smirks as if he thinks he just said something witty. But he didn't. He just said something completely redundant.

"Err. Yeh. I didn't even know I was called Maxwell."

"So when we look for new employees, Max, there's certain qualities we're looking for, we believe our retail outlets purport themes and ideals we want our workers to share. What do you think those might be?"

"Like, liking HMV?"

"So could you be perhaps a little more specific?"

"Like, music and movies and stuff?"

"So do you like music and movies?"

"Yeh."

"So where do you buy your music and movies?"

"Sometimes the internet."

"Sometimes?"

"Yeh, other times I just torrent and stuff, y'know."

Tchut-tchut-tchut-tchut-tchut-tchut-tchut-tchut, shaked the little neckbeard, as the dour little man had suddenly had his little day ruined. Nevertheless he let out a little something-like-a-smile, but it looked sort of painful and not happy.

"So Max, what experience do you have in the small-scale cooperative product distribution market?"

"You mean, selling? Erm, on eBay, my feedback score is like a blue star or something."

"Great. What do you sell on eBay?"

"Like, music and movies and stuff."

The little neckbeard goes into overdrive as interviewerrr stares right down at his belly-button and grows three more chins.

"Ok, Max. So we'll let you know in a few days about the results of the interview."

Max thinks it's probably gone well. He shuffles into his pockets as he stands up at the directions of the interviewhirr.

"Would you like a Rolo?"

The little neckbeard shakes one last time.

Ok, so what

He sat by the edge of somewhere a few hundred metres from where he just was on the main street coming out of HMV next to Mickey Ds next to the knickers shop, with all the knickers in the window. The street had quickly deteriorated in that short distance. There was a Betfred and a Chinese called the Chinese and some boarded up spots and a model trains and railways shop and more boarded up spots and terraces and a corner shop. HMV was like the second shop he'd looked for job vacancies in and he was pretty exhausted to say the least. The first was some guitar shop that sold about twenty £80 guitars, one £200 drum kit and one Fender Telecaster, had some enthusastic square guy in denims at the counter. Place looks like a cupboard. They weren't looking for anyone, for sure.

Max would've liked to have worked somewhere like a guitar shop because he fancies himself as not only a musician but as an artist who transcends all artistic mediums and dimensions including the spiritual one. When that didn't work out he looked for a record store, because that was where cool artist people work too. Then he remembered that there were no record stores, because of the Internet, and this not being the 70s. The Internet is so mainstream. He wasn't sure why HMV was a valid alternative, but he tried anyway.

So he just kind of sat by the edge of somewhere. It started to get dark and then it started to rain, so he started looking for the nearest bus stop. Now it was raining really heavily, so he looked for the nearest place to crash. He didn't know exactly where he was, he'd been walking for a while. At some point a bright smear appeared through the haze. In sheer delight he skipped towards it and right through the door of the shop the bright came from, displaced slightly down the alley.

He stepped right in and shook his hair and coat and socks. The sheer delight of shelter and light overcame him. He then noticed he was standing in a videogame store and there were alot of games strewn wildly about the place. Then the lights went out. A guy appeared from behind the counter.

"Oh… we're closing." Max flung his arms around wildly.

Max, not wanting to waste such a golden opportunity, set out to coerce the man for employment. He knew little about videogames, but he was a brilliant coercerer.

"That's a nice… game, there."

"Right."

"Is that the one where you shoot the things that shoot at you?"

"I guess."

"Oh, I think I've played that one…"

"…is that a sign that says 'Job Available'?" There was a sign that said 'Job Available'.

"Yeah." The guy who was behind the counter now wants to lock up the front door and leave.

"Please, could I have it?"

"The sign? No."

"The job."

"Sure. You're hired as of now. But come back tomorrow morning, this place is closing."

"Ok."