An Interview
“Why are they dressed like that?” I heard.
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I think that was from that guy staring at me in Starbucks. Eh, I just gotta carry on, though I did find my hands in the pockets of my raincoat. I guess I get it, it’s very yellow, like a really really bright yellow, but I like it. It’s oversized and cozy and it’s got pockets and a hood. Practical and stylish the seller said it goes really well with my favourite pair of jeans, you know these jeans. Also oversized, also cozy. I think I have -
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“What a fucking weirdo!” I heard.
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My eyes accidentally found their way to the rude person. I thought they looked pretty weird. Out in London on the highstreets in full black tie. Although that’s harsh, they gotta be wearing black tie for a reason. Still, feels shitty that I have to brunt their harassment cos they’re feeling shitty. Though I guess they don’t know I can hear their thoughts. Still, I dunno, they don't need to think it. And I've heard worse. Much worse.
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I remember when I was like four, maybe five but probably four when I first heard Greg or Steve think “Kaylee’s a doo doo head.” to which I obviously protested “she aint a doo doo head.” I never made that mistake again. It’s better for everyone if I just keep shtum. It’s weird, I still miss Kaylee. I only knew her for what like, a year at most, when I was four. But there were so many mean kids, or boxes to fit into. Which is fucking wild. How as a four-year-old did I feel constrained in a box, that should be the time of my life, finding myself and trying things and just living life but as a four-year-old I had to hide and move schools and –
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“Watch where your fucking going, fucking wanker.” I heard.
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A red car raced past me an inch from my face. I looked down and was standing very much in the road. Yeah, I deserved that one, that’s on me. But erm, yeah I’m here outside the Sun’s HQ. It’s not what I really want but I can’t complain. I mean just getting an interview is big.
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“Fuck, I’m so nervous, just breathe” “These other cunts ain’t got nothing on me, I’m gonna-” “Nah but whose this fuckhead, another one” “The Sun has been my dream all this time, journalist here-” “I don’t even have to take it if I get it, I mean it’s the fucking Sun, shoulda gone to the Telegraph” OW. That’s a lotta voices just one at a ti- “I need this job. I need this job. I’m gonna get this job” “Piece of piss this is gonna be.” “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”
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“Imri. Imri Treshy?” Oh fuck, oh my god I didn’t even have any time to prepare, say yes for fucks sake.
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“Yes, sorry, here.”
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The corridor was this white that was too white especially with these framed trashy headlines causing this weird dichotomy in my brain. That’s a good word, I should try and use it for this interview, it'll make me look clever.
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“Just in here Imri.”
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Oh, shit that was really quick. Thought I could prepare on this walk.
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“Thank you.”
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I’m not even really nervous anymore just confused. My head still fucking aches after listening to all those people stressing. Wow she looks amazing though, really expected my interviewer to be boring in greys, but she’s wearing a hot pink skirt and a bright red shirt, it shouldn't work but it does!
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“Thank you, I appreciate that!” I heard.
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Wait.
Wait wait wait wait wait.
I HEARD!
Hold on but then she can hear this.
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“Yes, I can. Sorry that it was so overwhelming out there.”
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But, how?
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“Oh, sweetie. Have you not met a telepath before.”
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No, I haven’t, hadn’t.
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“I'm sure you have they just didn’t say hi. We’re a rare bunch but a community nonetheless. You’re safe here. Shall we get started, we can chat in our heads if you like.”
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Yeah, that’d be nice.
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For the first time today, without thinking, I smiled.
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