There had been people before, people who were different. He had carried it for so many years and eventually grew weary with the burden of his secret. At first the people stared. They stared hard and long, outraged at what was before them. He was known as the Man without a Box. He was the first but not the last of his kind. When people asked him why he had no box the Man would just smile and say nothing. He had no box. He renounced his Box. In public tempers flared and fingers pointed as his boxless form walked the streets, head hung low avoiding the angry stares of the people and their boxes.

They found him dead on the cold tarmac of the car park, his old Box, blood-stained, shivering and whimpering next to his battered body under the pale street light.