It started with a sore throat on Monday. Last night it escalated quickly into a full blown cold. I had trouble sleeping due to my blocked nose. Oh, I don't feel good.
I got up this morning and made coffee and toast.
But, pretty soon, I just want to go to bed, I was feeling cold, but I had to get my tablets. Oh, when did I become that person? So, I rug up in a coat and proper shoes, and I take Bruno and head down the street.
Bruno and I walk down the street to primarily get my prescription filled, but also to do my TattsLotto.
It’s sprinkly rainy and grey and overcast
I have to drag Bruno down my street. He just doesn’t want to go for a walk. It is days reminiscent of Buddy not wanting to go for a walk.
A postman driving one of those buggy things up the footpath says, “hello handsome,” to Bruno in Smith Street.
First of all, I’m in my TattsLotto shop doing my TattsLotto.
Then, I’m in Chemistwarehouse getting pills. The stingy cunts will only give me two of the boxes of the three I have left on my script. Fuck them, I’m getting my doctor to sign the script next time.
We walk back down Smith Street, where Bruno has a huge dump just before Charles Street, all across the footpath.
We walk up Webb Street. The rain is starting to fall slightly heavier.
We pass two guys standing at the intersection of Little Smith Street, which is blocked off, and Webb Street. They are building the world's ugliest building in Smith Street, it looks like a scalloped pink brothel, and it backs onto Little Smith Street.
Bruno pisses on a traffic cone blocking off Little Smith Street. One of the guys paid to stand around says,
“Don’t let him piss on that, mate.”
I should’ve said, oh sorry, that’s what I should’ve said, but it seemed so ridiculous, the rain was falling, and I have to admit, momentarily, I thought they were kidding, you know how, shall we say, guys who stand on the road and direct traffic try to tell weird cutesy jokes about dogs. But he wasn’t kidding.
“It’s out in the rain,” I say.
“We have to pick that up.”
“It’s getting rained on. What’s the big deal? I say.
“You’re a smart arse cunt, now aren’t you.”
I turn and walk away, or kept walking which would be a better description. I’m not feeling great and just wanting to get home,
He started abusing me, telling me to come back and he’d teach me a lesson for being a fucking smart ass cunt.
What is wrong with people now a days? I guess, I dared not to sympathise with his story of having to touch a dirty street cone that has spent its life literally on the street in the dirt. Is it me, I wondered?
Half way up Webb Street, after a continuing diatribe, I turn around and respond to the abuse being hurled at me. “And I’ll report you to the police and they will arrest you for assault, do you want that?”
“You smart arse fucken cunt come back here and say that.”
Bruno and I walk to the corner and turn into the next street and away from them.
10:55am. Bruno and I are home.
I make coffee and get into bed. Bruno comes with me. Milo is already asleep on the bed.
Why didn’t I just say sorry, I think.
No comments:
Post a Comment