Induction

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He exaggerated every facial expression to breaking point. He put his arm around me and we bundled through the pub lavatory.       He locked the cubicle door behind us. We bounced off the thin plastic walls and shuffled our feet on th...

He exaggerated every facial expression to breaking point. He put his arm around me and we bundled through the pub lavatory.

 

    He locked the cubicle door behind us. We bounced off the thin plastic walls and shuffled our feet on the damp tiled floor. I had known this man less than a week. I told him I wasn't into it, but he insisted I keep him company. "It's part of your induction,'" he said.

 

    He presented a tightly folded lottery ticket and became very still. This was important work. He lay the pink parcel onto the porcelain cistern. The flat surface looked clean to the naked eye, but it was most likely caked in bacteria and invisible filth from a thousand strangers. He didn't care. I watched as he opened the tiny envelope with delicate precision, like a jewel thief trying not to raise the alarm. Not one speck of the ivory spice could be lost. He took out a gold Amex and chopped at the white crust. He was a maestro. He was my new boss. 

 

    He stood back and admired his art. The lines of powder looked like an orderly, snow-capped mountain range. He began to move with agitation and excitement. Then he swooped downwards and sucked up one of the mountains. He came back up for air with his chest puffed out like a gymnast. 

 

     "Go on," he passed the money straw.

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