Anyway, the crux of the matter, the reason why I'm writing here (and it's only hypergraphia) is that I have killed an ex-executive - that doesn't count as murder, more humane culling. I stabbed him on the stairs, and his cardboard box of desk clearings fell and scattered pencils, photographs, binders: all the paraphernalia of the recently redundant - an addition to the mobility pool. He coughed once, I remember, and went down to his knees. Before his eyes glazed over he made some attempt to find a photograph on the concrete. I know this because he almost had it when I put my foot on his hand and looked in his eyes.
Part of the benefit of being a cleaner is ready access to cleaning fluids and the furnace. So Mr. Anonymous Binned Executive (Abe) was traceless as he burnt with all the shredded documents in the basement.
And no-one knew or cared because he was redundant, blipped off the balance sheet, and hiding his embarrassment by exiting down the stairs - he chose to forego the ignominious descent in the elevator, box clutched to chest advertising the recent letting go. But even so, as we passed on the stairs, me with bucket and mop, him with box of crap, he thought he was better than me - me with a correspondence course degree! He looked straight through me (never pass on the stairs, it's bad luck). So I stabbed the fucker.
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