It was my day off. I was happy, revitalized and inbreed of good sensations. Throughout the usual route from work to home, I went through the stores that tend to please my daily viewing satisfaction. Among them, inumerous Cocktail Bars were seen, and yet none entered. Despite the highly rated price they charge at entrance, of course-obvious.
Gone through Hummus Bros (quite a nice place to eat!), which has this weird capability of putting together the most irrational, bizarre, awkward and eloquent characters at times. This day, things were as characteristic as ever. I peacefully took an insight-view through the glass that separates me from Hummuniums (Hummus specimen of Humanity) -- And not even that was enough to deflect the slackness of our common human insecurities. As I walked through the store, (apparently!) I seem to have eye-boiled a certain person to death; In such a harsh manner that he felt the need to damply arouse his decreased forsaken securities, tick his trousers, fasten his lousy golden-fake belt and; as if in a attempt to greet himself with a eat-and-run meal, start following me as I go along.
I was snapped out of it, thinking of my own righteous dullness. However, I still moved my head around momentously, as if I wanted to confirm that everything existed, and that I existed among and within. No surprise, I did. And for my own sake, someone felt the need to prove me even better -- "Oi mate, you got a problem you filthy crap?" -- Was the way he decided to introduce himself. Me and my tick of instant sarcasm and conventional arrogance decided to answer him back with a cold -- "Hey, you not-so-good lad; what's happened? And in a manner of a few frames of a second, things rolled down to a much funnier and successful amusement:
- What's happened mate, what's fucking happened?
- Err....yeah. Do I know you?
- Do you fucking know me? Bet you fucking don't, you Irish-cunt. (I was doing my Irish accent, parle)
- Irish, Australian, whatever you want me to be -- So, who are you?
- You taking the piss, you little...You have a problem?
- Me? No, not at all. You seem to have one though.
- Listen to me you little twat, I was fucking eye-boiled just a fucking second ago.
- Who did that?
- Who did that? WHO did that? (He starts taking his shirt off) That's that, we'll fucking fight over it.
- You're too fat, give up. (I was that calm, apparently)
- You...fu...I'll tell you wha...just, fuck off.
And he came back to where he'd came from, Hummus Bros. His face was chopped, his securities were toned down, his belt was still golden-fake, but not as lousy. A last controversial encounter between our eyes cratered his enfeeblement of a true-in-essence traditional British Wanker, as to which he no longer had any appealing similarities to. I kept myself in the same place, looking down at his adorned persona, and I was doing that face -- Those who know me should know what kind of face I'm leaning towards. It's that one where I am smiling, but not really smiling? Some say it's a humble smile that rests within; However, people can still see it through my transparent eyes, though.
People have a problem dealing with it. They feel as much naked as they could get, which is, I would assume, disturbing and hardly frustrating at some point. He went back in, I looked at the sky, smiled and off I went, to my little wacky-tricky way back home.
Tvj
1 comment:
i love it
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