Through Eyes that Hide

"Everybody wants work. There's no work left."

That's the message I overheard and it was a pretty apt one, too. I sat alone on a bench in the late spring sunshine, surrounded by several misfits, and I could do nothing to prevent myself from being privy to their words of wisdom that they passed on to each other. 

"My mother's from Austria, she moved here in the seventies and gave birth to me in King's College, raised me in Peckham." I couldn't help but feel that was the most interesting anecdote that he could offer from the back catalogue of his life-story. Next.

"She left me"

"Come again?"

"She left me. Lucy left me, man."

"Bitch"

"Don't say that, man."

"What?"

"Don't say that about her."

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

"Not that."

"Okay, well let's go get laid."

"Fuck you, man. You're a fuckin' shit. I'm sitting here, heart in pieces trying to open up to you. I'm trying to tell you how shitty I feel and all you can think about is sex. You're meant to be my friend, man. You're a fucking dog. Cut off your cock and balls and you're nothing. Fuck you, man. Fuck you. I loved her and she's gone. So fuck you!"

"Whoa, whoa. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Are you okay?"

"No. But I will be. Let's just go find some girls and get laid, yeah?"

"Yeah, but first we get drunk."

"Deal. I still mean it though. You are a fuckin' shit, and we're gonna need some luck finding girls around here in the middle of the day."

"I know. I know. Well let's move, it's your turn to buy."

"Fuck you, man."

They shuffled off together and I turned my attention elsewhere. Opposite from me, a man sat alone talking on his mobile telephone. I noticed he only had one leg. Not that it made a difference. He nattered on, "Well that's no good. Call them back and if there's still no joy, I'm going to the police." It seemed like it was an unnecessary reaction considering the apathy of his tone and, as a result, I wasn't entirely sure I had heard him right, but with only half the conversation available to me, I hardly cared. What he said could never make total sense and I really didn't fancy wasting my time trying to decipher it all. Move on. Next misfit. 

A lady sat a few yards to my right, violently dragging on a cigarette and mumbling incomprehensibly to herself. Then she would twitch a little, tousle her hair with her free hand, inhale again on her cigarette and continue to mumble. I was equally curious and terrified. I watched her from the corner of my eye knowing she couldn't see where I was looking through my dark sunglasses. They are a great accessory for people-watching when you find yourself alone. Sadly they don't work as well in the winter months - people get suspicious. 

The only person nearby not making any noise was a middle-aged builder. Sitting in just his work-shorts, with headphones in ears and eyes closed, he was absorbing every ounce of sunlight available. I guessed he was asleep. He was certainly my favourite.

I didn't want to have to listen to any more of their nonsense, and I wasn't going to. Shifting my body to reach for my headphones and squeeze them out of my jean pocket, the old bench creaked beneath me and shifted suddenly, causing the first precious sips of my pint to splash onto the table. The puddle would quickly evaporate in the sun and never make it into my blood stream. I quickly gulped a mouthful or two down to ensure that such an accident wouldn't be repeated. I felt amateur for waiting so long for my first wet taste, but this drink had to last and so I was taking my time and savouring it. I was in no rush. I had no work to get to.