I am at the shop, but it is not open. There is lots to do. There are spiders in here. I am cleaning and polishing, waiting for the day.
While I work at the dust, I watch people go past. Little strikes of life, flaming up the windows, then disappearing again.
‘She’s got horses, she’s got bloody dogs, what else is there going to be….’ This was a couple, walking swiftly. Everyone walks swiftly, now, under obligation. He, the listener, was gazing down at her, showing concern, getting a reply ready. She was carrying a bag, leaning forwards, outraged about the dogs and the horses.
‘I’ve always had an interest in war histories.’ This was an old man who was hustled into a waiting car. ‘Get in dad.’
Keeping dad safe.
But dad was looking out at the books in the windows. His eyes the size of eyes, seeing books, unable to get them.
The dog man was over the road, standing at the BBQ, standing at the required distance. His laugh, which I can hear from inside the shop is still the same, up and over and not respecting the required distance. His dog sits patiently.
A couple came past (swiftly) and saw someone they knew. The halted. Their dachshund gave a small shriek as the lead gripped his neck. Then the couple remembered, and continued on (swiftly), mustn’t stop. The dog whirred into another trot, its legs circling like clock hands going too fast. The lady said, ‘Come on. Quickly.’
John cycled slowly past; on the back carrier of his bike was a bunch of carnations, tied securely.
‘Did you eat all your Easter eggs?’ This family passed (swiftly) all arguing. Someone has eaten more than their share of Easter eggs. Unfair.
Two people, maybe a couple, throwing keys. ‘You threw it on the wrong side, wake up fukr’.
A mother and two children, scurrying. ‘We can’t go in, its closed, but it’ll be open again.’
One day. For sure.