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 bbc.co.uk)|
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 pottonkarate.org.uk)|
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.