“Lunch” someone said in the office, “nope, I’ve brought in sandwiches” was my reply. The truth is I don’t want to see people; I don’t want to face the open pointing and the unveiled laughter. I avoid people I don’t know, as much as I can. I’m tired of explaining why I have boobs and why I’m dressed like I’m an extra in a homemade sadomasochistic movie. I’m doing it in honour of my wife and mum seems to translate into, I’m a bit of an attention-seeking dick that likes to look silly. It really couldn’t be further from the truth, well the bit about attention seeking anyways. I don’t particularly like social gatherings, can’t stand crowded places and I must have spoken to my neighbors about twice in my life. But I’ve never before felt quite so reclusive. I have become a Steve Hanson plus Bump shaped prison of my own making. Saying that, I am enjoying it a little too, I’m catching up on films, reading books that have sat on my shelves for years but sadly I’ve not been contemplating my navel. I don’t have one anymore. I have my Bump.