Colleague – What’s the title of that book?

Me – The Power of Now, it’s about being present.

Colleague – (chuckling) This place forces you to be present.

The show is a fast-paced, energised battle of words. Silence. The stage is set.

It’s ten past nine in the morning; my eyes, a set of kettlebells anchoring my jaw. I’m seated with my neck in rhythm as I attempt to function on four hours of sleep. Sway to my left, sway to my right. I feel my beard oil seep into my white tee as I sway side to side, disconnected from reality. Sway to my left, sway to my, pause. Disturbed, my set of kettlebells slowly raise to watch an eraser smack the shit out of a student’s bottom lip.

“Do something, then.”
Says the protagonist. His threatening words cause a slight pause, silence. Agitated, the deuteragonist strikes back with words potent enough to intimidate the toughest coward.

“Mothers, I’ll fuck you up.”
Other students, members of the audience, fill the room with Ooohs and aahs. Pause. I’ve seen this play before, and so I hop from my seat and onto the stage. I turn to face the protagonist and firmly ask that he sit down.

“What, sir, do you think you’re bad?”
Oh, now, I’ve become the deuteragonist. But, unwilling to improvise, I chuckle as I walk to, and place my hand around his tricep. I give him a slight nudge towards his desk and respond,

“No. I don’t think I’m bad, nor have I said I am. But you think I am, and that’s why you asked if was.” A slight pause. The corners of his mouth curve, he smirks, unable to come up with a witty response.