It was Raphael’s last day of work after a career that had spanned sixty-two years. When he’d started all those years ago he had fixed, organic teeth. Now they were fake and he had to slot them in.

He looked down at his desk. The things this desk had seen, he thought. Cups of tea. Paperwork. A picture of Pope John Paul II donning a mitre. He moved the palm of his hand softly across the desk, to feel it one last time. Wood made smooth by years of paperwork coming and going. He would miss all this, but it was over now. Fucking time. Fucking life. Over before it’s begun, he thought. Just when he was getting the hang of paperwork too. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. It had been a great servant, this chair.

He knew he couldn’t forestall time much longer though. It was coming for him. Just like it had for Rex and Tilly and Otis and Jeremy and Felicity. There was Edgar too. All had come and all had gone. Now they were dead, or at least, they might as well have been. The last he’d heard of Tilly, she had a fly problem. The last he’d heard of Otis, he couldn’t get his TV to turn on. Was this to be life from here on in? How would he cope without the titillation of paperwork?

That’s when Mr Tratty appeared in the doorway. He was a man, but not one worth describing. “Ready, Raphael?”

“Must I go?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I’m not ready. I have more to give.”

“That’s what they all say. But we have computers now.”

“Fuck you and fuck your computers, sir.”

“Don’t get potty-mouthed, Raphael. You’ve been a fine servant, don’t ruin it now. Just because it’s your last day, it doesn’t mean I won’t write you up for profanity.”

“Blah-blah. I’ve been sick of your lip for sixty-two years.”

“Watch your tongue, Raphael.”

“Tongue!” He said, indignant. “At least I don’t walk around wearing a bow tie!”

Mr Tratty looked at him. It was time. “Bring in the harness,” shouted Mr Tratty. And they did.

Raphael struggled and begged as they fixed him in the harness but, being eighty, much of his strength had deserted him for a younger model. His emotions hadn’t though. He could still feel, and as they slowly lowered him from the fifty-sixth floor window towards the street below, he knew it was over. Shedding tears, he stared up, the only existence he knew shrinking further and further away. These were the closing credits on the movie of his life. Mr Tratty was looking down from the office window, watching him go, but soon, this man who he had seen five days a week for the last sixty-two years, dissolved into nothing but a blur. Then, he was gone.

After a steady descent, Raphael found himself planted on the pavement of a busy city street. With some effort, he eventually freed himself from the harness. He’d barely let go before it flew skywards, back toward the office. He tried to look up but the sun was too much, forcing him to avert his gaze down to the ground. Puffy eyed and with tears on his cheeks, he looked around at the people in the street. They rushed by him in a multitude of directions. He felt as if he was being swarmed, but in truth, he was being violently circumvented, like a bollard in a flood.

Fragile and unsteady, he rotated slowly on the spot, trying to get his bearings. Where was the paperwork? He spotted a man urinating into the gutter. He spotted a woman kissing a lover. He spotted a child chasing after a pigeon. Then it struck him. He had been asleep for a lifetime. Granted, passivity and security had saved him a lot of hassle, but now he was awake, and boy was it noisy. He shuddered. What was this world? Who were these people? Better find out, he thought, before disappearing into the crowd.