Some people love to play the poor card. ‘I am skint’ they say, before cosying up to someone else’s girlfriend rather than pay for their own.
They are bad debtors. 'I’ll sort you out at the end of the month when I get paid.' They have bad memories. Five weeks later…you are still waiting. They all have 'pay as you' go mobiles and never make calls.
On eBay you will find them trading as hopeful salesmen. They hawk secondhand boxer shorts and used trainers. You can almost imagine their startled horror and bemusement as the clock ticks down and there are no bids. ‘I would have bought that’ they think. But they wouldn’t.
Their feet become leaden when they enter pubs or bars….they gently fall to the back of the pack without anyone noticing. They are always the last person to buy a round. Sometimes they miss the round. They never buy two rounds. Ever.
They shouldn’t be anyone’s friend, but they owe a lot of people money. So we stay in touch….until they sort us out at the end of the month.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
….he almost flies past the bus stop, a jagged leaf on the breeze, grey boxers, three-quarters showing, rude boy in white, youngish geezer, good looking council, gets plenty, probably, purpose straining his sinews, angry cry poised in his lungs, target not immediately obvious, suddenly stops, a pear-shaped woman in a blue tank top, over-sized shades, older and mismatched, shoving her pushchair like a secondhand piano, suddenly stops, he leans in angrily, pushes his jaw right up to her face, she doesn’t flinch, his mean whispers inaudible, brief and nasty, he suddenly pivots, flies back past the bus stop, to his life more desirable, you’re not a dad you’re not even a man, she yells after him, he does not glance back at his medusa, his past, she pushes the baggage of their love forward, the only way she can, in the opposite direction….