The following day passes like sand through a timer, as I wonder whether or not to meet Evans and the group anymore. Were those guys ever really my friends? Ever since that first day, in the canteen, when they introduced themselves, I noticed the fakeness. They would be polite and friendly, but you could tell there was a kind of discrimination in the group, some people liked, some not-so-liked. I sense that some people they didn’t want in the group at all, maybe because they weren’t talkative enough, or they were too profound, or they simply wanted to be themselves too much. In fact, looking back, I have to conclude that the whole point of forming the group was the whole ‘we all have to like each other’ thing that goes round the workplace. I think if it weren’t for that, it would be just Evans, Jason and Tony. Everyone else would be ignored at best, persecuted at worst.
‘Was that person really passed out?’
It suddenly occurs to me that they may not be.
It occurs to me, also, that Evans and his friends may have something to do with it.
And I realise, for this reason, that perhaps it is best to hang in there.

Monday arrives once more. I find myself strangely at ease with the repetitive nature of my work. It seems to provide a release from having to think or feel anything, and I somehow seem to be closer to paradise.
But there’s no such thing as paradise, I remind myself.
And if there is such a thing, I don’t think it would involve the absence of emotion or thought.
I just want to be released for a while. I consider getting drunk after work, in order to prolong the release, but decide against it. I will go down the snooker club instead.

As usual, Jason, Tony and Evans are there.
‘Hi, Holmes. Want a game?’
‘Sure.’
I prepare to undertake a game I have no understanding of, and no great interest in.
‘Society really needs upheaval,’ says Evans ‘our culture is unbearably shallow. We need to have more respect more for each other, to realise that everyone has a value. People aren’t just disposables, they’re not to be thrown away just like that.’
Jason nods. ‘I totally understand what you’re saying.’
‘I never think I’m listened to enough, though,’ complains Evans ‘look at the world around us. It’s always the most dutiful, most honourable members of society who fall on a hard time. They retire at 60, all they get is a paltry pension. They’re ignored. They’re eventually sent off to some home. What I’m saying is that they need to be rewarded for their efforts.’
‘I know,’ says Jason. ‘it’s terrible, isn’t it? They’re just left hanging round, waiting to die so someone else can take their money.’
‘What kind of life do your grandparents lead?’ I ask Evans, out of the blue.
‘Uh…. All my grandparents are dead.’
‘Hmm… yes. I couldn’t help noticing that you never seem to be short of money.’
‘Holmes? Excuse me?! I don’t think that’s any of your business!’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.’
‘Are you suggesting that… I’d never!’
‘I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. Just curious.’
‘Ok. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. It’s particularly difficult for women, I think. They’re taught from day one that their only value in society is to look good, and to make a guy look good by having her on his arm. Once that goes, no-one cares anymore. Guys get to offer so much more: money, personality, charisma, the success which they’re allowed to have. The success denied to women.’
‘Completely,’ says Jason. ‘women are exploited beyond belief. Just a body to be bought and sold, then on the scrap heap.’
‘You two are being soooo boring.’ yawns Tony
Evans and Jason glare at Tony in a warning manner. Immediately he shuts up. There’s a silence for a while.
The silence goes on and on, while game after game of snooker goes by.
At 6.30pm, the snooker club closes as usual, and we leave as a group.
I take the last chance to ask about them about the woman by the trees.
‘On Saturday, I saw someone passed out in Fort Goldfax Street. In that area where the Cypress trees are. Did you see them?’
Jason looks deep in thought, and Tony looks slightly uncomfortable. Evans seems as though nothing has happened.
After a pause of roughly a minute, Jason says ‘No.’
‘Ok, it’s nothing dodgy or anything I hope. Probably just had too much to drink.’
‘I expect so.’ Says Evans.
‘Ok, cool.’
‘Anyway,’ says Jason, ‘Tony and me are going to get some charlie tonight. Fancy some?’
‘No, it’s ok. Drugs are bad, you shouldn’t get into them.’
‘Oh, sure (!)’ says Jason, sarcastically.
‘You really don’t know what you’re missing.’ Says Tony.
The group depart just before West Street, agreeing to meet in the Red Dragon & Duck on Saturday.

I go home to check my e-mails. Offers from HMV on hard rock. I look through it. Motley Crue, Iron Maiden, Guns ‘N Roses. I already own some of the albums, and don’t want to spend my money right now, so I pass on it. Stuff from Ticketmaster. Cosmetics from Boots. Evans has wrote on my FunWall on Facebook. He’s also sent me a message. I’ll read this later. New people on Friends Reunited: no-one I know, although they went to the same school as me.
I log onto Facebook. I have been sent a daily teaze invitation from Jason. I consider it but ultimately fail to understand how it will get me anywhere in life (or love). I leave it without accepting or declining. I’ve been invited to BlackJack by Alan. I accept this, but accept that I probably won’t spend much time on it.
I check the inbox. The message from Evans reads: ‘Just to confirm that we are meeting in the Red Dragon & Duck this Saturday at 8pm. Be there, or be a twat! Laterz, Evans.’
This message somewhat annoys me, as I want to go anyway, if only to keep up with the news.
The FunWall invitation shows an obese women, dressed in a bikini, rubbing herself all over. Underneath is the caption: ‘sexy’.
I sense that this opinion is sarcastic, and send a message to Evans asking why he sends me stuff like this.
Tony has put a new post on his blog about how much munters offend him and how he would like to murder them. I ask myself why it matters so much these days, but it’s difficult for me to answer my own question. However, my stomach is tied in knots, and my mind is not at rest. Something doesn’t quite feel right. It seems that what was once a humorous subject is becoming somewhat unfunny.
I sign out and log on to Myspace. I notice that The Terminators will be playing the Gatecrasher in two weeks time. I would like to watch them but am reluctant to go there. Perhaps it will have changed? I think I will probably give it another chance but there is no need to decide now.
Once I have finished on the Internet, I practice the guitar for half an hour, then read Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs.

As I walk to work on Tuesday, a girl blows a kiss at me and the guy with her, dressed in a Nike baseball cap, an Adidas top and matching trousers, shouts ‘Mug!’. The girl laughs. I hurry along, irritated.
On arriving at the office, I speculate that I didn’t choose to be treated like that. The resentment surges in me like vomit, threatening to shoot out of my mouth any minute. I try my best to keep it under control, taking deep breaths, telling myself that it will be better if I don’t cause a scene.
There are a few new orders to put in.  There are no names that I recognise, but I notice that someone known as Alan Harris has ordered Taxi Driver.
I have watched this film before. Travis Bickle (played by Robert de Niro) is a veteran of the Vietnam War. Unable to sleep, he decides to get a job as a taxi driver. Quickly, he grows restless with the corruption around him. His relationship with Betsy (Cybill Shepherd) turns sour when he takes her to a porn movie, but it all turns really sour when he meets child prostitute Iris (Jodie Foster), paving the way to violence with his good intentions. All in all, I’m unsure what prompted Paul Schrader (the screenwriter) to write this, but it is an interesting film. Perhaps the New York of the 1970s was, indeed, the chaotic, immoral, Hades-on-earth which is shown to us in the film, or perhaps it had just been made like that in order to shock and entertain the audience. It surprises me that it ran into censorship problems, as compared to more modern films, it is not actually that controversial. Music can be much the same – it would come as a surprise, a shock even, to the young people of today that the music of the 60s was considered shocking.

When I get back home, I read on Myspace that there is a band playing at the Tempo Club tomorrow. They are known as the Ace of Spades, named after the famous song by Motorhead. They play old-school hard rock and heavy metal, including a few covers by famous bands such as the aforementioned Motorhead, Judas Priest and Iron Maiden.
I am looking forward to watching them already, it’s just that I’m uncertain whether I’ll enjoy the venue, or the company. I decide that maybe I’ll go on my own this time. I can do my social science on Saturday when I meet the others at the Red Dragon & Duck.