Charlie Chaplin "Everything A Contradiction"

Frederick Tampland wove the lace into the final eyelet, tying the two threads together to tighten his navy blue vest. He cradled his cane under his arm and slid his gleaming black top hot onto his head, smoothing back his sleek blonde hair. After looking at the handsome gentleman in the mirror from a number of different angles he let his cane slip down to his fingers, and used his other hand to grasp the edge of his shiny black top hat and slide his finger across the brim.

"Successful. Handsome. Confident. Respectable."

With his usual morning pep talk complete, Frederick strode from his bedroom, down the single flight of stairs, taking special care to skip the broken step, through the front door and out into the world.

***

Being the first Monday of the month, Frederick knew Mr Summers from upstairs will be coming down to have his scheduled check-up of Frederick's performance. He heard the offices outside become silent - one by one - as if a blanket was being drawn across the building, muffling every sound, getting closer.

"Frederick."

"Mr. Summers." Frederick rose from behind his desk, bumping his knee into the side of desk. This caused both pain and Frederick's stationery to roll off the edge to land at Mr. Summers' feet.

Both men looked down at the pencils for a moment, before looking at each other, sharing an awkward silence. Mr. Summers glanced at Frederick's gleaming top hat resting on the designated pole placed directly to the right of his desk.

"Hmmm...."

"Yes, Mr. Summers sir?"

Mr. Summers placed his dark grey top hat on Frederick's desk, then leaned forward and rested his hands next to it.

"Bad news, I'm afraid Frederick."

***

The job-hunt had not been kind to Frederick. For months he had scoured countless corporations promoting his talents. When that failed he sought out labour employment and even begged for the less-than-prestigious position of waste-collector. Unfortunately he was deemed to be "over-qualified".

Frederick sold his house to pay off the debts he had accumulated from his short time in the upper-middle class. He slept in the dark alleys of the city he once held acclaim. One day Lord Summers passed by and stopped when he recognised the fallen body of his colleague. The Lord tipped his shiny black top hat, the very top hat that Frederick was forced to leave behind, and walked out from the alley, out into the main street. Out into the world. Spinning his silver cane as he went.