“Psh, idiots,” he grumbled, his hands scrunched deep in his brown pockets as he narrowed his eyes at all the christmas lights and the coned tree in the middle of the mall.
He hated Christmas, just hated it. All those blinking lights, screaming of a world in the dark desperate to believe their little lives had meaning. He had once been out on the street, out in the cold, and even now, those lights were mocking him.
Even now, he was bitterly poor, but he had a stable job running a small company. Job security was low these days, though, and times were hard. He certainly had no time to waste on goodwill and gift-giving.
Who cared what people thought of him, anyway? He was busy squeezing his way to the top. People just didn’t understand how the upper class lives; they assumed that everyone there was deliciously rich, and in some ways he was, but he had time only for himself.
And that’s the way he’d want it, anyway. He had only ever had himself; his father and brother never really connected with him. They had each other, and he had himself.
The outsiders moved aimlessly around him. He was the only one with any real purpose in life.
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