There’s a beeping coming from somewhere in the room. And a low hum. Actually the hum is getting les low and more loud.
But the man at the centre of it all looks cool, he just does this automatically wherever he is. After a while of observing him in many different settings one begins to imagine that he’s had a panic bypass at some point. Or maybe he’s just very very stupid and at some point in his youth he decided that life wasn’t fragile after all and that he alone was indestructible.
He did, it appears, have a point. He’d been in more scrapes than I’d care to mention, and a fair few that I’m planning on mentioning in order to write his gripping autobiography.
The publishers have asked for this rather cumbersome title: “He’s no James Bond: The story of a real life James Bond.” Apparently it tested well in a focus group. Anyway that reminds me…
Our man focused on a group of objects in the corner of the room. It was a fridge that he had been edging towards. That would account for the humming. But… what… was… in… side… humming? It was his watch. He put it on, left his house and rode his bicycle to work.