On the descending slope…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s colours are: taupe, russet, taupe, russet, taupe, russet, and lilac.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A few days ago I was walking with a bag of shopping on the wide long paved slope down to the road from the back of the supermarket. Could you call it a concourse? Probably not, I think you only have concourses at the fronts of buildings; it looks a bit like a concourse though.
Ahead of me there was a group of teenage kids standing chatting, an abandoned supermarket trolley (a shopping cart, or apparently even a buggy, for my US and Canadian readers), and a scruffy wobbly thick-set man walking along ahead of me; he was obviously drunk and rather unhappy; you could tell by his gait, and the aggressive words he was muttering to himself.
Suddenly there was a loud metallic bang!
The thick-set drunk chap, his anger finally boiling over, had struck or kicked the trolley as he passed it; he also swore at the poor innocent thing too. The group of kids, startled by the noise, all looked up and stared.
The drunk man carried on weaving his way down the slope still mouthing bad words at the world in general. The marvellous thing was, that the blow to the trolley had jolted it from its state of rest against a tuffet of grass at the edge of the paving, and had set it in motion, and gravity was easing it slowly down the slope. The trolley was now determinedly following its assailant.
With its wiggling wheels it was zigzagging a little, but it was definitely tracking the man, matching his speed pretty accurately. The kids watching this little drama all started laughing – as I did myself. Fortunately for us the drunken chap was oblivious of this merriment.
As I was walking slightly faster than the trolley was rolling I soon drew level with it; I couldn’t resist turning to face it, pointing my finger at it, and saying in a firm voice, ‘Stay!…’ as one would to a misbehaving dog. Just by chance it happened to change track a little and it straightway headed for the nearby shrubbery and stopped dead.
Oh, how I smiled as I walked on, but I did slow down a little so as to not catch up with the drunken thick-set wobbling man…

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in brain, colours, cool, drama, Dulltown, expletives, Hull.UK., humour, information, observations, serendipity, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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