sartorial

Sartorial I started work in an office, wore a suit that was cheap and too small. They stuck me in a backroom that had mustard coloured walls and no sunlight. I sorted and filed bills that had been paid, and I never understood the point of it. Yet it was one up from my father, he worked for the council digging trenches by spade- yes it was long ago- when it was hot he wore no shirt muscular and tanned women sighed. My father was married five times and died doing push ups; or so mother said. After a year I understood i was not going to be promoted, became radicalized and joined the merchant navy. In New York I bought a splendid suit that had enormous shoulder padding, I went to the office in the hope of getting a proper job, a woman there gave me her phone number, like I should be for hire! The suit I have I wore seven years ago at a wedding in Brussels a man of sixty five was getting married to a woman too young for him. They were happy for six years then he couldn´t get it up and in despair topped himself. I will wear my suit if someone invites me to a party; it hasn´t happened yet, I suppose it will not, old men, unless they are rich, find themselves alone most of the time...