Squares

Fold, fold, fold.

His hands moved a little too much to the left,
A bead of sweat formed on his head,
Movements jerking like a computer's accident,
And a strain of curses shower the air.

"Shut up, I'm trying to sleep here."
Fine, have your nap.
At least you don't have to fold.
Fold.
Fold.
Fold.

The physical stuff never bothered him at all.
Nope. It was to be expected.
It was the folding of his undershirt that made him so mad.
Every line should be in place.
A lazy crease is a ticket to punishment.

And those squares...
His undershirt needed to be folded in a nice, neat square.
But he can't do that!
Can't.
Won't.
But keeps trying, because there's no choice.
"Fold the undershirt in a square."

You know what?

Fuck squares.