He was late for work. Again. His boss would give him another bollocking. He was way past caring. Didn’t matter anymore, fuck him!
He stood in the bathroom in just his, once white, underpants and looked at himself in the full length mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Tony Roberts was a big man. That’s why he was known as “Fat Tony”. Everyone called him that, even to his face. So what. It was true. He was fat and his name was Tony. He couldn’t argue about it.
He liked a beer, who doesn’t? He liked his food as well. Three good meals a day was what his old Dad used to say. He lived by that rule. Good fry up for breakfast, lunch was usually pub grub and dinner was a takeaway from either the Indian or Chinese.
He missed his Dad, thought about him every day. Died too young, heart attack at fifty six. He realised that he’d be the same age next year. It didn’t bother him, life was for living.
He patted his stomach. It was now a good ten inches larger than his chest, making clothes difficult to buy. His last suit he’d had to get made to measure. Impossible to get one “off the peg” anymore.
It was different when Laura and the kids were still around. But she took them away eight years ago. He remembered what the divorce papers said. “Irreconcilable differences”. He still wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but if it meant that she’d got fed up with his drinking three bottles of wine a day then it was probably correct. He secretly hoped she’s come back one day but he’d just seen on Facebook that she was “In a relationship”. Probably that guy Jim who she worked with. The fitness fanatic. Proper wanker.
He ran a comb through his almost non existent grey hair. Sprayed some deodorant under his heavy arms and reached for his non- iron shirt. He looked at his watch. He was already forty minutes late for work at J.Monroe Accountants where his job title was Office Supervisor. In reality he was nothing more than a glorified tea boy. So he decided to take his time. He got dressed slowly, he had to these days as he got out of breath very quickly. Doing up his shoelaces had become almost impossible, especially these last few days because of the constant pain in his chest.
Indigestion had always been a problem. Too many hot Curries washed down with beer and wine didn’t help. Last time he went to the doctors they took his blood pressure. The doctors’ face was a picture! He did it again just to make sure. One eighty over one forty he remembered the doctor saying. God knows what that meant but the old quack was panicking and told him to lose weight and prescribed some tablets. He took them for three days then couldn’t be bothered. Didn’t even know where they were now.
When your numbers up that’s it. No point worrying about it.
He was ready to go. He took one last look in the mirror. Yes he was on the large side but he scrubbed up okay.
He shut the door of his studio flat and began to walk down the stairs. The indigestion was getting worse and now he was starting to sweat, pins and needles were making his left arm feel strange. He needed to get outside into the fresh air to cool down. He’d be fine then, he was sure. Just needed to get some air…