The story of a bent shoulder

We toil hard, twice a day. I find myself thinking about it right outside the beautiful and jubilant premise where I have been walking in and out of, for more than the number of times I have even visited my native land. The day was no great after listening to the endless brain swatting lectures.  Getting back to reality, thinking about the pile on my shoulder, I hunch even more. I slowly tread my way to the site which would help me back to my abode. I sway and sway and sway even more, until.

Until I hear the infuriating endless rant of some broods. They were passing their hideous remarks as if they were competing against each other to win the next cricket commentator post. They were that swift with their chain of words. And I hear them talk about it. It. Something I dreaded they would, gradually, talk about.

I have never found it hard to correct my ceaseless amount of mistakes. I knew they were all committed with or without any serious intentions, but were all the type I could switch off. But, the fact that I bend towards my left shoulder, for no reason, picks on every fibre of my living presence on the mother Earth. I have thought about this from the second I realised I acquired this alien habit of leaning towards the left. Only if I could blame someone on the way, for it. Until...

The day I realised, the possible explanation to the mysterious bent. The arduous twice a day job.  The load on my shoulder.