The tale of the shortbread fingers

“Buddy, you’re better than this. And you know it. When life has thrown you punches, you’ve turned into a punching bag. You’ve seen the Balboa boy’s speech a million times. And played his role in your mind. It’s time to play the role for real. Your prize is waiting for you.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, as his mind continued to give him a pep talk. And as a response to what he was thinking, he rolled up the cuffs of his shirt, in combat mode. The speech still continued in his head as he ran down the steps of his building instead of waiting for the elevator. There was a vengeance in his eyes, his nose was flared. As he sat in his car, a packet of his favourite butter short bread biscuits sat in the back seat. He took one and tore at it, as he drove down the street. And stored some of the delicious buttery delights in his pocket. He had reached his destination. The board read: Mumbai is upgrading. He joined the crowd around an ancient gulmohar tree, as the authorities surrounded it to hack it down like the many others in the name of development. And together, they roared to save the environment.

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