Then a mid-life crisis became a permanent state of uncertainty, the lizard-brain had its day and drew the line. Another line and another line, and life was a scribble of pain on the bomb-proof windows of the money palace. Cut or run - I ran.
Now I am among the precariat, broke, (broken?), but I have a place I can call home (no more living on the M4 corridor), boots with pink ribbons and a wardrobe full of fancy suits I'll never need again (here's hoping!)