... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Block Chop 58: Walking after midnight

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.

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