Friday, November 11, 2005

Headed to the hole in the wall at lunch. There's a bloke stood in the middle of nowhere, staring into space, looking 'hard', chewing gum, seeming unlikely to have a bank account preferring, I assume, to stitch his coin into a matress. "Are you..erm...?" I mumble, quietly, with one eye on not being assaulted down a Hull street not well known for the common use of social niceties, "...erm...waiting for the machine?" "Yeah," he aggressively chunters, not attempting to assume a position that would make his actual position clearer, ie, by standing where every other person would, somewhere near the hole in the wall. Instead, he's blocking the pavement, forcing people to apologetically wander around him. He's fucking loving it. He's a cunt. A violent cunt with no manners. So, when he finally gets to the machine, I re-align the queue back to its rightful place. I overlook his every move, sneering at him. Somehow, I avoid a savage beating. I feel that, morally, I did something right for once. I then enter the bank to pay a couple of bills. I have to fill in some counterfoils and step up to an area suitable for writing. As I complete them, I dart back to take my place back in the queue just as someone else enters the bank. I have to move fast. She looks at me as if I've simply pushed in to claim a place that wasn't rightfully mine. I can feel her eyes, filled with hatred, burning into me as I wait in line. So, almost instantaneously, I feel the moral high ground slipping out of my grasp. Now, I'm the cunt. Life is such a bastard.

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