Sunday, December 16, 2018

Walking The Dog

We are doing the big walk. We are coming down Brunswick Street from King Willian approaching Moor Street, where there is a woman with a shopping trolley which she has pushed up next to the public phone, pretty much, blocking the footpath. She is rummaging through a handbag she has on the trolley.

“Excuse me,” I say. We have to squeeze between her and the building to get passed. It appears obvious to me that, other than her and her trolley, the rest of the footpath is empty. “If you moved your trolley over there,” I say. “You wouldn’t be blocking the footpath.”

“What?” She looks at me. She has lank, peroxide blonde hair, and she is missing a front tooth. She has oddly grey skin with spots, or are they sores, maybe?

I smile, I don’t think nervously at this point, I can’t remember. “If you just move your trolley over here and then…”

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A SEISURE,” the woman screams. “I’m going to have a SEISURE!” The hounds of hell come to mind.

I am taken aback, as that isn’t the response I am expecting. “You could still move your trolley over there,” I say. I’ve seen people having seisures, and she didn’t look like one of them.

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A SEISURE,” she screams again. “A SEISURE. Is that what you want?” I can see veins in her eyeballs.

“What does your seisure have to do with the position of your trolley?" I ask.

“A SEISURE… A FUCKEN SEISURE!” She was dribbling by this point, I couldn’t help but look at the froth in the corners of her mouth, it looked like gold fish row on the surface of a pond.

“Well, you could just as easily have a seisure over there, as here,” I say.

“I’M HAVING A FUCKING SEISURE! DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?”

“I heard you…” I think most of the CBD heard you.

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCK OFF!”

I pull back, take a step away from her.

“FUCK OFF YOU FAT FUCK. YOU AND YOUR FAT FUCKING DOG CAN JUST FUCK OFF!” she screams.

Oh, just die you toothless loser, comes to mind, but I don't say that. I decide to just walk away instead. Too much like hard work... no... really. “Oh, have your seisure,” I say, as I turn to walk off.

“YOU CAN FUCK OFF YOU FUCKEN FAT FUCKEN DOG FUCK, JUST FUCK OFF!” She is screaming after us as we head off down Brunswick.

I turn to Sam. “Well, that went well.”


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