It smashed. Electric sparks flew from the dissected television. Inanity was driving me insane. I stumbled into the bedroom where boxes that hold products gathered dust. Dot.com businesses, we had been told, were the future.
The certificate declaring my First Class Honours degree in Business Management hung above to open boxes of cheap whisky.
I opened the text message. Fifty more boxes of Eastern European whisky will arrive on Friday, with perks for yours truly. With the hissing of burnt out electrical goods audible from the warden’s bungalow, I picked up another bottle and pulled the Emergency Care Cord.
This was another 100-word challenge with the word “bottle” given as the start point.