So, I’m taking the dogs for a walk along Johnson Street again this morning. We’re careful to walk on the other side of the road to what happened yesterday. As we get along Johnson Street, Clean-Up-Your-Poo man is at the front of his shop, again, this morning. He sees us, well, I guess two Bulldogs aren’t all that hard to spot.
Johnson Street is having a relatively quiet moment and he walks out into the lane heading out of the city and says, “If you ever do again what you did yesterday, I’m gonna report you to the council.”
Oh, I think. You again. He’s like a dog with a bone, or a dog with a poo, as the case may be. And I think, well, I’m not entering into that argument with him today, so I say, as quick as a flash, and I’m not really sure where this came from, “Are there prescription drugs that you should be taking that you are neglecting to take by any chance?”
He says, “What the fuck are you talking about, mate?”
“Well, if there’s some sort of anxiety medication that you should be taking, that you are not taking, well, that could explain your behaviour.”
He starts to say that I’m a jerk, I think fucking jerk were the words, something about “people like you really shit…”
Now, you understand the lights have changed at Brunswick Street, by this time, and cars are approaching him, still standing in the middle of Johnson Street, raving on, and they start to honk, effectively censoring his colourful language, and he had to do a tiptoe tiptoe Jeté, or is it Plié? Leaping, retreat back to his side of Johnson Street and the bulldogs and I walked away, with me, thinking that it was just a beautiful moment.
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