The Avocado Soldier
Artwork by Bill Higginson
The feeling of relief as he closed the door and locked it was immense, enveloping. It was getting harder to function out there. Outside. City headache, he had heard it called. But here, with a door and a lock between him and Outside, was sanctuary, sweet relief from the miserable organism of humanity.
Inside.
Was there ever a better word in the language? It held in its two syllables all that a man ever needed. Safety. The familiar. The sacrosanct. The place where one could shed one’s armour, hang up one’s mask, and relax. One could safely ignore the seething, swarming hordes of wretched humankind; the mindless jumble of buildings; the appalling commonality of life; talkback radio and hollering advertisements; gridlock and impatience; shriek
