This Is This

In the park near where I work there is a bunch of homeless drunks who congregate and mostly mind their own business. Occasionally, they drift into the shops to buy booze, which is the only time our lives ever cross.

Yesterday I was walking up to the shops and this scary wierdo in rags walked by me having a mumbling rant to himself. They staggered towards me with a vacant look, murmuring the whole time, and I thought he was going to say something to me. As he went past, I muttered to myself in despair: “This fucking city, I swear to god,” just quiet enough so no one could make it out, but out loud, nonetheless.

As I was saying this, I noticed a smartly dressed lady walking towards me suddenly looked concerned and veered away from me as I approached. She took my mumbled rant as a sign of madness.

“No,” I wanted to say, “I’m not mad, it was someone else. I’m not crazy, it’s this city. It’s full of nutters.” I wanted to point out the scary wierdo and say: “It’s him. He’s barking, Diana Ross bonkers.” But that would have proven her point.

And it was kind of wierd the way I muttered to myself. It was like tourrettes for introverts.

I let her go thinking I was a nutcase, then started wondering if my scary wierdo was complaining in the same way I did about a wierdo more scary that he.

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