The Postcode Mentality and the city of ciggie snatchers

Much had happened since, I departed from the feline cesspool. I had finally gotten a place of my own and dubbed it home. It wasn't actually a penthouse, but the foul stench of dog and cat shit wasn't nothing more but a distant memory. I was able to think back of the entire episode and chuckle at my frequent state of mental pandemonium.

I had opened my eyes to many new things, which I had been blind to before or at least not given myself an extra moment to dwell on. Wherever I went, my eyes fell on poor unfortunate homeless souls. Some of them would patiently await and hope that you would drop a coin or two into their hand, while others would actively seek you out to promote their sad condition and burden you with a guilt trip, “Can you spare some change for a cup of tea?”. Of course, I wasn't that gullible. Since when did tea get poured into cans of Carlsberg? Along those very same streets, kiosks and grocery stores with exclaiming discounts on every type of alcohol known to man, store owners encouraged these souls to spend their hardly begged money. It was sickening and sad, but nevertheless I indulged them. I gave them whatever change I had on me. Ideally I would prefer them to spend the money on something that would benefit them, but then again, who was I to pass such judgement? Who was I to say what was beneficial or not for these people?

Something else I noticed was, when the homeless aren't looking for money, they are looking to acquire cigarettes. I couldn't count the amount of times throughout the day that I was bombed with the question, if I could spare a cigarette. Standing still and smoking a cigarette was like being a freshly furnished turd waiting for the flies to arrive.

My new job had presented me with more material for my mind to work with. I finally realised, what I was doing, wasn't what I was supposed to be doing. The geek talking of complex data structures and methodologies that never interest me was being force fed into my ears, but my mind was somewhat distant. I was out of synch with this environment and these people. There were only two persons that I had bonded with. Each of them carried a element that I could easily mirror my personality in. The rest emitted vibes of fraudulence and riding horses, they needed ladders to mount. I communicated little or never with these people. I might have come across as being timid or introverted to them, but I felt that we had nothing to say to each other that would have served as a catalyst to initiating the semblance of basic friendship. At this point, they were people I worked with and nothing else.

Every evening I found myself standing outside like a furnished turd looking at the naked trees occupying the grove as far as the eye can see and the dull grey sky The pavements were dirty and stained with the residue of dog shit. It seemed that dogs in this country really made an effort to shit in the middle of the pavement, and people who walked just wanted to step in it. In fact I can imagine they jumped into it. Maybe they liked the extra padding on their shoes, so they could slide down the street to reach their destination quickly. But it was out here that I found my mind clearing up and able to put things into perspective.

Yes, Life goes on...

Edward T. Shufflebottom