Difficult to Explain


Jesus, I saw the vendor pick that up with his hands, his raw hands, not with the gloves like he's supposed to. She shouldn't buy that one. I could tell her, but I won't. It's best that she doesn't know, not now anyway, it would be so difficult to explain! At least she wore the purple overcoat today. Even if she gets sick from the vendor man, at least she won't get a head cold. It's just about the only weather-proof thing she has, what's she like? I should tell her about the sale in the little outdoorsy shop near where she works. She'd be able to pick something decent for the chilly months. That wouldn't be a great idea, not now anyway. Fuck, that would be so difficult to explain.

Think she'd have correct change for the bus? She should have used the 5er in her pocket when she bought the wrap. I haven't been close enough to say for definite that it’s a 5er, but I know she took €20 out of the ATM beside the station this morning, and after her two iced coffees, panini, lotto quick pick and the €2.20 she gave to that homeless man on Nassau Street, she should have about €6 left. Bank notes are no good on a Dublin bus and the €1 wouldn't get you a child fare these days!

A man's giving her the change now, anyway. Most of me knows he's helping but a lot of me doesn't give a fuck how difficult it would be to explain the clawing I'm holding back. I'd use my fingers to take his eyes out, then I’d like to see him count the change or spot his damsel in distress or match his fawn, old-fuck-looking overcoat with those expensive brogues.

The cats and dogs and children aren't really bothered with me. Big people take a quick look, only from the white of their eyes. I look back at them. They don't look back at me a second time, thank goodness.

I'm far enough away now, but I'm getting a bit tired. She hasn't turned back. She hasn't once had a glance around to see if I'm there, waiting, impatient, growing slightly tedious of her teasing indifference.

She's been home.





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