The Man In The Suit

Nothing scares me more than the man in the suit. Every year around this time, I find myself checking my emails and bank accounts more than I check any of my social media. I have this irrational fear of messing up on my taxes, significantly, and find myself catching a racketeering charge.

I like to think I’m a decent law abiding citizen. Aside from some of the things I like to partake in recreationally, I do right by the law, or at least I haven’t gotten in trouble for any of it. I still blow red lights when I’m the only car on the road, I still smoke around every corner of my place before I head inside, and I can still walk home without getting caught being publicly intoxicated.

But when it comes to the man in the suit, he scares the shit out of me. Anytime I’ve gotten caught doing anything bad, I’ve been able to settle it right in there without any further problems brewing. The thing that scares me the most is that if I mess up with the government, they might not be as understanding as a local cop or my parents.

I mean one extra zero can make all the difference in the world. One less comma and they’re knocking at your door looking for the rest of their money. One extra one zero and you’d never know it. It’ll already be in their pocket and spent by the time you finally realize it. I know the type of person I am, I know I’ll evidently make some dumb mistakes especially when it comes to math, and it terrifies me when I file my own taxes.

Each year around this time I think about changing my name or fleeing the country so they can’t find me. Just in case I do actually fuck up my taxes. I figured I might as well get a head start and get away from them in case they come looking for me. I probably wouldn’t deem it safe enough to move back yet until August of the next year. That is as long as they don’t harass my family looking for me.

I’ll just make it back in time to do it all over again next year. I really should just start paying someone else to do them for me. At least that way I won’t be fully liable for the mess. If he does fuck up like I know I will, I just hope I’ve found some cool enough accountant to spend the next twenty years with.

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