Like an Evil Hugh Grant | 30th June 2011 | 15:34 PDT

I was strongly recommended that I should visit a place called Vermont Street by this French lady, she described the place to me as "Incredible, Fresh, Green, Easy going, Boutique shops, Friendly neighbourhood with musicans and... oh, it is JUST amazing you JUST have to go!"

So, here I am, I've JUST arrived to Vermont street from a 2 hour bus ride and I was feeling fresh! (as rigamortis) - I was recommended a restaurant a few blocks up away from my present location and I start to reluctantly walk towards it. thankfully this friendly part of town was incredibly welcoming with its:
  -  Boutique shops (crumbling beige strip malls with dilapidated signs)
  -  Green spaces (from empty weed ridden demolished building lots)
  -  Friendly people (bums shaking their empty change cup at you)
  -  Musicians (bums shaking their few cent full change cup at you)
  -  A tree (that, at least, was half alive with a flower)

I was so engrossed in lapping up the sheer beauty of, what French people thought was an incredible neighbourhood that I didn't notice this obstacle blocking the path. by the time I realised it was too late... this tramp had been trodden on.

Now, in my defence I had no hope of avoiding him as 48% of the path was used by his worldly possessions of packing foam, half a chair, candlestick, concrete slab and the letter C and some other random bits compacted into a shopping trolley, 51% was him sleeping face down in the sun, leaving just 1 measly percent for me to navigate around him.

Imagine this tree is a tramp and you see my problem (via

Honestly, it was like looking at a teenager's bedroom, he was just sprawled out all over the place with no respect to his surroundings, like he was entitled to live there or something.

Stepping back, I try and diffuse any harsh feelings that may have brewed from this incident by sounding as friendly as I can... resulting in sounding like Hugh Grant that has just taken prick pills

"Oh blimey! I'm terribly sorry, I was in a world of my own and didn't notice you"
he burped out a I-am-disgruntled-by- it-but-too-apathetic-to-care type of gargle groan thing.
"Look, sorry, I really am"
I tread around him in that 1% gap between him and his trolley.

My first foot succeeds in this, as it has had a dress rehearsal. My trailing foot hasn't had this luxury and no doubt suffering from stage fright as it forcefully brushes the tramp's body. Not enough to be classed as a "kick" but like a hard stroke, like you would stroking the head of a dog after its done something very good, like, fetching a paper!

As I said, just a little "brush" with my foot (via

Regardless, I instantly lost my nerve and couldn't find the words nor the voice to say anything, all I could feel were his drunken blurry eyes, trying to find focus on to the back of my head to make it explode.

I just grit my teeth and cross the street with bright red i-am-an-idiot embarrassment and hoped he could read my mind about how sorry I really was.

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