blacks and grays and reflected damply in the slick, wet pavement. It's
busy, you know, as only Edinburgh festival time can be. There's people
waiting for the bus (not causing no fuss) and they are all over the
path. Suddenly like splashes on a toilet seat when you walk into a
cubicle, really needing to go, and this is the only one free. You can
feel the clock ticking. Your train pulling out the station. You're
waiting patiently. Grinding your teeth. When here comes a splash of
colour. Jaunty greens and yellows. And just for a moment you believe
they are going to get out of the way. This garden furniture carrying
buffoon. Their huge canopy catching in the wind as they grip it's
handle with two hands ploughing onwards like captain oats towards the
south pole. And you stand defiant. Surely they'll realize. Put down
the bloody brolly. Step aside. But no. The spokes are suddenly in your
face. You've lost an eye. It's there on the floor, in the gutter, like
some kids marble. A scream bubbles from your incredulous lips. As the
umbrella wielding serial killer maniac inantvertantly takes the face
off the next victim.
Sent from my iPhone
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