Without Blemish

The new smart phone was waiting for him in its multi-coloured presentation box when he arrived home from work one Friday night. It seemed like a supernatural reward for the dismal journey he had just undergone. It had taken the usual hour from the glass bubble of the Call Centre with its perpetual cacophany of formidably calm and reasonable voices, through the industrial nowhere land of wind blown detritus and urine coloured swirls of oil under the street lights, along the canal bank to the underground station and finally the sardine tin journey filled with body odours, perfumes and vacant eyes.