This is what Robert was like. He bit his fingernails and drank too much coffee. He spent way too much time reading cycling magazines and not actually cycling. He secretly believed that Game of Thrones was the best book he had ever read and he knew that to say so out loud was asking for trouble. He enjoyed looking at his girlfriend’s girlfriend, and he hated how he often thought his father was, well, a fool really, when you take into account the feeble grasp of the real estate market and his Dad’s affectation of joining something described as the Country Club but which was located in the northern suburbs 20 minutes from the CBD on the train. Robert wore very hip stovepipe jeans, but felt it was really quite likely that he was just a dork who thought that wearing stovepipe jeans would give him street cred. It was a minefield. The things Robert hated about himself were mounting up. He was knackered noticing everything that’s wrong with him. So he grabbed his copy of A Clash of Kings and headed out for a double espresso.


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