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  • Dirty fingernails scratched a face you could light a match on.
    A long, bony, index finger scooped the yellow gunk from the corner of his eye. He stared at the mucus that had accumulated during his long snooze a few hours prior and nodded with approval before wiping the discharge into his grubby, black, trousers.
    He loosened his silk tie. Beads of sweat formed on his brow before splashing onto his polished wooden desk and his heart pounded with the rhythm of a samba drum as the walls drew nearer and nearer and nearer.
    Gasping for breath; he fell from his leather chair to the floor below. Chest tightening like an industrial vice. His once white shirt now a semi-transparent grey with perspiration.
    He agonisingly clawed at the carpeted floor in a similar way to how his reluctant cat would whenever it didn’t want to be moved.
    His fingertips fell just short of the telephone cord.
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