New Job by Mr. Stanley Donwood

After a tortured night I awake full of determination. I review my position, and consider with circumspect gravity my inner strength. My new job demands much, and I eat my breakfast whilst wearing a serious and adult expression. I suck the hot coffee with a professionally pained mouth, and flip the pages of my broadsheet nonchalantly. I swoop back up the stairs in my towelling dressing-gown, and fling open my wardrobe in a manner which I assume to be casual and easy. My suit hangs in front of me, full of nothing. It is up to me to fill it with myself. I pull on the trousers, and carefully fold my penis behind the zip, fastening the button with what I hope is a manly grin. I tuck my shirt into the trousers, and spend some time with my understated tie. My jacket feels slightly small under my arms, but it is nothing anyone would notice. I wonder what my new workmates will be like, and fantasise briefly about the relationships I may possibly enjoy with other members of the organisation. I glance once again at my digital watch, and decide that I am ready. I pull on my coat, check that I have my keys, and walk out of the front door, slamming it firmly behind me.
I stand outside, looking blankly ahead, realising I don't have a new job at all.