Day 66 - Muscle (fiction)

Muscle was never about size. It was about timing, speed and spatial awareness. Managing your explosions to serve a higher purpose. That’s not to say a noble purpose or something that’ll make the world a better place. It means following up on someone else’s whim. If your boss needs to teach someone a lesson, you have to be ready to light their house on fire. If someone challenges your boss at a meeting you have to be ready a week or a month later, to slam a glass ashtray into his mouth. That means inviting the guy out for a beer and playing nice until the whole world opens up and you have a split second to shut his mouth forever. All because your boss felt like it. And that’s not much of a purpose, but it’s higher than you because you’re nothing. You’re too stupid to be afraid or find a direction for all that anger and confusion. All you know how to do is explode and now that’s your job. You get paid to be a sub-human, passed over by evolution. Open the release valve and keep twisting. Then take the cap and flick it into a river. You’re muscle now. Be ready.

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