The last thing I want to do right now is to go to the laundry, but I’m sure I’ll be on duty later today, so I go anyway.

I feel very conspicuous, seeing as I’m wearing my only clean cloak, a sunshine-lemon yellow.

The laundry I use is self service (it’s too difficult dealing with shop owners all the time). I find the nearest free washing machine, and throw my heap of cloaks in.

I press the on button, but the machine refuses to comply. I then hit various other buttons, my irritation building into a massive tumbleweed of rage. I have a bad temper.

“You moron!” a woman beside me screams as I start hacking at the machine with my scythe. “You’d better be able to pay for that! Idiots like you are the reason policemen stay in business!”

“Actually,” I growl, turning on her, “policemen are the reason I stay in business.” I lower my hood, expecting her to leave me in peace, so I can continue savaging the stupid machine.

She stares, unimpressed. “You don’t have to take out your anger at life at inanimate objects.”