Greetings

[Porpoise]

My account hasn't been locked yet, which is a very mild form or approval (the absence of disapproval) so perhaps I'm safe to post part two of the hero's reluctant adventures in the far north.

If anyone is reading and likes/hates it, please post something to let me know.

I was granted a short leave to get all my affairs in order. This consisted of packing all my stuff in boxes, which took a depressingly short time. Next up was to visit my daughter and engage in awkward conversation with my ex-wife and her boyfriend. I'd been legally divorced about six months, which explains why I had hardly any packing to do. They seemed happy in my old house, which was a mixed blessing. The new boyfriend, Tim, asked me questions about the wiring in the extension which I had started and he had kindly finished, using my money. I made sure to be as polite as possible to Tim, the tall streak of pelican shit. Lest you think I was turning into a nice guy or found Jesus or something, let me explain my motivation.
Once a year every officer in the US Army receives an evaluation report completed by your commanding officer. The report is full of information about what you did or didn't do, what you do best, what you could do better, but ultimately the only part that really matters is that little box at the end that your boss either ticked to indicate whether he was recommending you for promotion, which was called selection, or not. Whether he ticked that box came down to whether or not you did your job properly, didn't disgrace yourself too publicly and if you kissed all the right assholes. Not everyone got selected every year, only if there was a slot available would you get selected, along with the right tick in the right box to say you were alright. There was more to it than if you got a pay rise and put different insignia on your uniform and a fresh bunch of assholes to kiss. Miss two selections and expect to be looking for another job. That was called being selected out. With that in mind, and my latest indiscretion I was extra nice to my ex-wife's new boyfriend, the prick. Tim worked at some firm of corporate thieves on Wall St. Don't get me wrong though, I was totally up for some legal thievery, and with the way my army career was going it might be my best bet. He said he could probably get me a job on the trading floor. At the time I thought this was an extremely generous offer, but I've since been told he was probably being an asshole. Working on the trading floor meant being shoved and yelled at and wearing a ridiculous yellow striped sports coat. Also, those jobs were fast being replaced by computerised trading systems, so I'd probably be out on my ear not long after having my foot jammed in the door. Nevertheless, I smiled and nodded and laughed at Tim's jokes while I pictured him fucking my ex-wife and wondered how long it had been going on behind my back what it would feel like to squeeze his windpipe until it cracked beneath my fingers.
"What do you think," he asked.
"Sounds great," I said.