The sun was setting at its usual glacial pace. It was doing so on the horizon behind the English Riviera. Caravans. Roaming cows. Self-righteous retirees. They’d worked to get here and they wouldn’t let you forget it. They were obsessed with work but it sure wasn’t enough to lure them out of retirement. They’d earned this. Close to death, the world is your oyster.

Marvey watched the sun go and, as he did, he couldn’t help but wonder; “Have I fucked it?” He was young. Needed to prove himself. He was in the midst of a negotiation with a very harsh man. He was hoping to buy a big company. He was hoping to get it for a fair price. The other man was driving a hard bargain. Text book.

“If only the world was fair,” thought Marvey as he reluctantly returned his gaze to his opponent. “If only the world was fair then I’d own all of it,” he thought. It was the sort of reasoning that had caused him to alienate his entire family.

If you asked Marvey’s family about Marvey, they would reply, “Marvey? Marvey’s a cunt.” His mother was slightly more nuanced. They called her diplomatic. She would simply say; “I wish I’d never met his father. It would have saved me a hella lotta jip.” What’s worse, her hip was on its way out and she’d recently had a stairlift installed. She’d vowed never to let that happen, but it had. She was, for all intents and purposes, the failure she had hoped to never become. When she caught sight of the stairlift, she cursed it. When she was in it, she enjoyed it. As it ascended, she smiled like a dimwit. The pleasures of life are a mysterious thing.

Come to think of it, Marvey thought life was unfair but it was him that was making it unfair. After all, he’d put his mother in this state of physiological disrepair when he unceremoniously booted her in the hip at Dora’s 56th for nabbing the last of the mini pizzas from the buffet. Hence, the stairlift.

But this was no time for such concerns. Not now. This matter was what you might call crucial. Life-defining. He stared at his opponent. The sun had gone – fully descended behind the horizon as if it had never existed. It was a metaphor for Marvey’s life.

He looked at his opponent: a balding man with a tan. A balding man with peace of mind. A balding man with intent. A balding man who knew what he stood for: great fuck off deals to write home about and think of while shagging. Marvey was intimidated. This man was balding yet unfazed. This man knew his way around an orgy. Balding, yet confident. This man carried himself as if he had a full head of hair. It was a mystery to a person as shallow as Marvey. Still, he had to try. He had to get the company for a fine price. Christ, if only for himself! If only so he could look in a mirror without an underlying sense of unease and distrust.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t do it.

Not saying a word he stood up from the table, put on his trilby and lit a cigarette. Chesterfields. Red. Twenty pack. He was himself again. Common.

The balding opponent seemed confused. Was he being fucked off by this tool of a man? Marvey paused for a second, then looked deep into the eyes of his foe.

What is life?

Not this.

Prouder than ever, he turned away and mounted his cow. Finally feeling himself, he smiled, cigarette in teeth. Then, riding fearlessly on cowback he disappeared slowly and unsteadily into the vague, dusky twilight.