I’m about to leave work, I’m exhausted, starving, at this point I can assuredly tell you that I honestly don’t give a damn about anything else except getting home in one piece, grabbing a take away along the way. I had a long day and its time to wrap up. Haven’t finished working on this project which was due 2 months ago, and which I’ve been attending to the last 3 months, although looking at the dragging progress, I doubt it will be complete anytime soon.
I get onto my bike, and begin cycling through the city, southwards towards home, through the busy streets buzzing with dodgy cab drivers (the kind that always charge you more than what their meter says), noisy cars and drunk young women. Past sky scrappers and eventful bars and pubs bustling with gabby customers. I hear the Karaoke, and live music streaming straight to my ears from the bars. Blues, Jazz, Alternative, Soft rock…Salsa, my ears are spoilt for choice. I smell the cooking food in the kitchens, Indian, Mexican, Chinese, Greek … Middle eastern. Oargh, the pleasures these streets have to offer are simply wonderful! Cars drive past, and one driver honks his horn at me, for no apparent reason.
I cycle past the quiet neighborhoods – my bicycle lamps flickering in the night, one in front, a white one, another at the back, a red one. None of the residents mind me, they are all asleep. If I concentrated well enough as I cycle, my ears will probably grasp a few snores. I cycle through the back-alleys, past the brewery – taking in gulps of boozy, malt-like smelling air emanating from the brewery as I whiz past, towards the “not so good” part of town, which I have to pass through to get home. I’m physically comfortable, its not raining, there’s still life about (cars drive past, pedestrians walking home, a couple of cyclists, lights are turned on inside a few of the houses lining the roads) and the cycling is generating heat, keeping my hands warm despite the cool evening breeze.
Then somebody throws a stone.
It hits the concrete road, about half-a meter from the bike, disintegrates into smaller chips, and a chip from the ‘shrapnel’ bounces off the road and hits my sandal clad right foot, just on the side. I stop pedaling.
Oi! what was that for! Why, why oh why! At this time of the day (it was around 11pm) in this crappy part of town ( the not-so-good-part-of-town)! I protest, mentally. Should I stop and confront the stupid c*** who threw that. Would you stop if you were me? Mmmmmm, difficult one that, especially if I don’t know whether there are firearms or sharp objects lurking beneath (and since I definitely know that I’m not carrying one). Remember its the “not so good” part of town.But shouldn’t i stand up for what I believe in, for justice, and what is right!
For a fraction of a second, I’m right in the middle of conundrum square!
Also, he’s not alone, I just saw them, a group of 3 or 4 males (we can’t call them men, nor lads – why add disgrace to perfectly harmonious terms – they are males, for all i care, they could just as well be male dogs, male hyenas or Gorillas with that sort of cheap behavior), chatting away on the pavement. Maybe 14- 17 yrs olds, + / – 3 years, young I know, but gangsters learn how to use a gun at about 3yrs old around these parts. I should know, this was home several years ago.
I cycled past them okay, and they didn’t raise any objection to my presence prior to the projectile. As far as I could tell, I hadn’t done anything wrong to them. Didn’t fire their incompetent father from work! Neither slept with any of their ugly sisters, nor were inhumanely sadistic to their mother. I didn’t call their little obese sister “fat cow”. Why would I do that? I don’t know any of them.
When cycling past I even acknowledged them with an assenting nod. But they repay me with what, stoning? Aah, I know, he thinks he is a tough guy, the guy who threw the stone, he thinks he is heavy eh?
What a poodle!
If you think you are tough eerr m8, no we can’t call you m8, not even for now, you loitering, good-for-nothing, badly parented, hoody-clad, miniscule-gangster, anti-social, ASBO deserving, piece of ****, dimwit of a youth, why didn’t you join the army, or the navy perhaps? Yes, if you were worth your salt, you could have tried the marines?
But you are not. Oh no, you are a lousy coward, useless, good-for-nothing, stone throwing Loser! With nothing better to do with your life than throw projectiles. If you think you are a force to reckon with, maybe you should take a gap year (nobody who has been on one of these will throw a stone at an innocent cyclist), go to South America, or Southern Africa, and put your skills to something constructive. Not throwing bits of stone about like a 4 year old.
What a t*t
Never, ever, ever, ever do that again. To anybody, certainly not to me. Or you will seriously regret it. And you won’t know what hit you.