Raist

A Story by Xo

just a lunch break

Raining, outside.

Salmon gritting.

Triptych bones.

Movers moving.

Off to deposit €10 for my employer; for reference €10 is approximately my hourly wage -- as a low-skilled clerk.

Security guard, staring.

Man clutching documents, trying to get out of the rain.

Cracked flags.

Flashy advertisements.

Beard feeling slightly itchy on my chin, all wrapped up like this.

Water invades my right shoe; for it is old, perhaps three years so, and has completed many steps upon a treadmill, city street, countryside, mud, earth, everything. -- I stop tip-toeing, and just let it happen.

I cut through City Hall Green: it holds many memories for me, this place.

A pidgeon exposes herself to me, looking right into me; her underwing feathers are such pure white, untouched, unweathered: interesting; it is as if she was displaying to me what I could possibly get!

Another crane on the skyline: nothing special there.

Green man awaits me; I cross the road.

A group of five -- I’d say citizens but I don’t know -- they’re five people, huddled underneath a bus shelter, room for no more, until the situation becomes more dire, in which case room will be made.

I’m getting soaked.

girls laughing

Two labourers sitting in a stationary vehicle, avoiding the rain, perhaps thanking it for rendering their work unfeasible, at least for a while.

People clear out of the streets, just as fast as they would rush to a super sale.

I KNOW I CAN RELY ON AAH

AND OUR CUSTOMERS KNOW THEY CAN RELY ON ME

Coffee kiosk owner, sits sheltered and on his mobile phone; this time is not good for him; his competitors of brick and mortar justify their overheads -- in this weather.

Well how come I can’t change it -- well they took that; I don’t have no passport, no money; that’s going to cost me extra amount of money to go and get; I don’t have a driver’s - they took everything else … card … no way I can get … well it doesn’t matter about …

“Hi -- I’ve got a Euro lodgement here.”

… can I come back?

“That comes to seven pounds ninety-two.”

“Great.”

… when I went to …

“That’s great; thanks so much for your help.”

To the cashier I say -- oh, you died your hair? -- usually I’d prefer it darker, like you have it now -- but I think you looked amazing before. She looks like the kind of woman that -- is -- dutiful -- as well as beautiful; she takes such pride in what would normally be considered a mundane job -- which is admirable -- to me at least.

As I was leaving I saw a former colleague of mine, from an older job; and I think at once, wow, this is just -- a small city, really; and I’m very lucky that I have not run into anyone I dislike or have had a run in with in the past; I’m very lucky in that regard: but perhaps I see them and my mind ignores them, like - your eyes tell your mind your nose is there but your mind chooses to ignore it.

So, yes, I ran into her, said hello, wasn’t so interested in catching up or anything; so I just left, said I would probably see her again - and maybe I will.

All this city’s flags are soaking now.

Smell of cigarette smoke from in front of me.

… is now gone.

Vomited in my mouth a little -- urgh -- disgusting. The flavour of the liquid in my e-cigarette is, of course, minty - so this will just accentuate* the taste rather than overcome it. Must get back to the office and -- have a drink.

Perhaps I should get a milkshake from the shop. -- Yes; I will do that.

Crossing these roads, of Donegall Square West, is very like playing the game Frogger, in which you must cross many lanes of erratically moving traffic.

Chocolate flavoured milk. 43 pence.

“Hey.”

“Is that everythin’ for ya, buddy?”

“That’s it!”

“43p.”

“Thanks, buddy!”

“Thanks very much.”

What I said about Donegall Square West being like Frogger before -- well -- I kind of exagerrated.

Green skirt; black stocking.

Turquoise jute bag; a mostly colourless umbrella, with purple shapes upon.

I press the button, to cross the road.

Fingers tingle.

Flag whips itself around its pole.

Either a Nissan Skyline or a Subara Impreza, with a pink frontal wing, rather small.

Angle grinder, or mechanical saw.

Broken umbrella in a bin.

Gutters designed for light rainfall made completely redundant by this day.

Flowers I mentioned earlier today: wilted, by the pure force of the rain, or perhaps drowned in their own soil.

Small forklift, orange in colour.

Television interview taking place; bright light shining through this overcast day and into the face of the interviewee.

Brand of the forklift truck: HYSTER; have never seen it before in my life.

And a Raleigh bicycle: have seen it before, many times.

Girl with pink and blue handbag, gold-rimmed, not easily collapsed, rigid, propped up, whatever that’s called; grey suit-pants; purple coat; black heels: all under a blue umbrella.

Would you walk with me to the second?

… is that you, aye?