Picture the scene
Scott Street, Perth.
Walking South towards the Insch yesterday morning at about a quarter to ten. I was on my way from the opticians back to the car, and as I passed the bus stop, I saw a man bending down to pick something up. He wasn't anything special: short and thin; shrunken like old men are, I'd have put him at about seventy. He was dressed in a mid-grey suit; white shirt and dark tie; pork pie hat partly obscuring his freshly shaven, slightly pointy face. Any other time, I'd have forgotten him as soon as the next person caught my eye.
But as I came closer, and he stood up, I saw that he was wearing loose-fitting latex gloves - the sort you get in hair-dye packages and fibreglass kits from the DIY store. He had retrieved a thin, pink, elastic hair band from the gutter and was rolling it onto his left wrist as I walked past. A keepsake?
I've absolutely no idea what he was doing, but I feel sure he'll be turning up in a book sometime soon.
Walking South towards the Insch yesterday morning at about a quarter to ten. I was on my way from the opticians back to the car, and as I passed the bus stop, I saw a man bending down to pick something up. He wasn't anything special: short and thin; shrunken like old men are, I'd have put him at about seventy. He was dressed in a mid-grey suit; white shirt and dark tie; pork pie hat partly obscuring his freshly shaven, slightly pointy face. Any other time, I'd have forgotten him as soon as the next person caught my eye.
But as I came closer, and he stood up, I saw that he was wearing loose-fitting latex gloves - the sort you get in hair-dye packages and fibreglass kits from the DIY store. He had retrieved a thin, pink, elastic hair band from the gutter and was rolling it onto his left wrist as I walked past. A keepsake?
I've absolutely no idea what he was doing, but I feel sure he'll be turning up in a book sometime soon.
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Blogger was being pissy.
And now the thought is gone...