Walking home after midnight on Sunday morning. I step out the door and am immediately greeted by speckled slug, the most sell dressed mollusc in Emperor’s new clothes. A tabby pattern adorns the wet surface dweller visiting the door mat.
Feet disappear into dark puddles, visual voids; I pray away the dogshit. Prayers not answered and I step in something. Fortunately the next patch of street light assists in my discovery: clean soles. Wet leaves. I turn the corner.
On the other side of the road a woman walks in the same direction as me. I have to cross, but the thought crosses my mind: what if she thinks I am charging, making a sudden and unexpected lunge across two lanes in the quiet deserted night. I consider remaining on a forward trajectory and taking the long route home, but no – I make the lunge, into the abyss, and I cross the road. She has the same idea and we almost crash heads in the middle of the road. All along I was worried she would think I was the night stalker, and it turns out I had the lucky escape.
Another corner turned; two down, three to go. Sound of dry leaves rolling in the breeze. Behind me at a mounting speed. They accelerate yet the air is still; I feel no breeze to account for the advancing debris. Just as the sound is upon me I approach another corner, turning as I feel an unthinking life form bear down heavily. It’s a dog; the sound of leaves is its terrible claws teasing and scraping the foetid ground. The unexpected arrival of a lone creature startles me, and as it inspects my person with its monstrous nasal prying I look around for help. No owner in sight. Then as I step out into the quiet road to cross another dog is in front of me. I am surrounded.
Which one is the leader? If it comes down to a bloody fight for dominance I must identify the leader, bear my teeth and aim for its throat. I choose my target, casually scratch a flea from under my collar, and as I raise my hackles and prepare to strike, the two mysterious hounds duck into a garden never to bother me again.
The nerves have got to me and a constant rotating tune pervades my psyche. Over and over and over, its accursed melodies taunt me. The theme tune from Curb Your Enthusiasm haunts my every step; speeding up as my pace quickens, slowing as I slow. Diddly di di-di-di di di-di-di-di.... from now until the untold and infinite future.
A white hire-car taxi with yellow signs slows down beside me and stops. The driver makes no sound, no movement, not no indication of sentience what so ever. My confidence returning I walk tall and onwards, and the taxi remains fixed in its position. Further corners turned, snails underfoot, a man sleeping in the cab of a van, and a house party winding down.
Home. Blog. Bed.