The Tax Man

The letter was sitting on the coffee table when I got home from work. I plonked myself on the couch and scooped it up. Slowly moving my eyes over the characters, I was able to make out my name, and that it had come from the offices of the City of Osaka. This could only mean one thing: that they wanted money from me, and lots of it.

The Physical, Pt.2

Did you read Pt.1 first? Ok, good. Please continue...

I sat the kids down on the carpet in a circle, and we all observed a quick moment of silence whilst I gathered my thoughts and they waited for something to happen. Okay, here we go. First ever lesson. They're sitting right in front of you. It's time to rock... Wait, how do I start this thing? Oh yeah, introduce yourself. Here we go. Let's blow their minds...

The Physical, Pt.1

I had survived for fourteen months. Fourteen months without being assigned any kids classes. For anyone to last that long whilst working full time at an English language school in a surburban area was nothing short of a miracle. Most were lucky to hold out for two, maybe three months before they received the call up, but for some reason or another I had slipped under the radar.

The Platform Golfer

It was a rainy autumn morning as I sauntered up the steps to the train platform on my way to work. When I reached the top I saw that my train had not yet pulled in, letting out a swarm of city workers at their final stop, who would collectively leave the unpleasant stench of tightly-packed bodies and breath in each carriage that us outbound commuters would be forced to gag on as we sat down in uncomfortably warm seats and waited to depart.