Idiot B

The scratched record of life was stuck on a particular piece of music, repeating over and over , and would have continued ad-infinitum, the stylus click like a metronome keeping heartbeats time, but jarring change lay just around another London corner and was about to recommence the needles journey.

He looked distractedly over the stores contents, until the thaw had warmed him sufficiently, studiously avoiding the “helpful” assistants’ thinly masked annoyance at his continued presence. But not wishing to out stay a begrudged welcome, he took the stairs back to the mezzanine floor…..hoping to waste another window of time amongst more expensive good for which he had no use nor finance.

Gaudy trappings of another levels existence in exchange for a pocket full of flaccid, greasy currency.

Deciding not to linger where clearly he could not belong, and with a pang of hunger replacing his earlier nausea , going back to the high rise and a set table for one accompanied by some disappointing day time television would use up the hours ….but why he wondered should that be? Watching others going about, clutching onto their happiness even if it was contained in designer shopping bags. They did not want the afternoon to end, he supposed, they did not wish their lives away…………He felt isolated, seemingly the only individual touched by the grasping hand of unhappiness …the only one with problems…? If that is what they were. Every one., well almost everyone, sauntered by in two’s…or more .straight, gay or simply friends…and families, squabbling school blazered adolescence causing customary chaos……

He almost wished for some chaos in his own life .to replace the predictability of work eat sleep and loneliness.