Chapter 8

As I sat in a window seat of a street side coffee shop, coffee on table, newspaper in hand, pretending to read, and watching, watching, watching all before, around and away from me, I noticed a couple fawning over their crying baby. Now granted the baby was crying, and this may have had a major impact on my mood, by this baby just seemed unusually ugly. I know that's a cruel thing to say, but the world is cruel, and the world is true. And the truth here was that this was no cute baby. I know there's a general feeling that no baby is ugly, all babies are cute blah blah blah. But just like adults, not all babies are cute, some are adorable, little pictures of joy, and some are miserable little so and so's who look like a combination of their unattractive parents. That may be cute to some, but to me that's just ugly. And that's the truth. I know what you're thinking - shame it's not their fault - but as true as that may be, it's also true of an ugly grown up, it's all genetics. Unless of course the lack of looks is because of that person not looking after themselves, letting themselves go, not having any pride in their appearance, and generally not caring - then it's the persons fault. But all things being even it's neither the babies, or the older man or woman's fault. I know this almost seems despicable that I'm sitting, watching everyones lives as they pass by me, and I'm commenting about a baby being ugly, hey I'm sure the kid is a lovely person, although right now he or she is screaming and crying his tiny lungs out, but my point will follow. You see girls are always going on about how adorable the little cherub is, no matter what they actually look like, be it the kid of two beautiful statues, or the daughter of big foot and the elephant man. They also think that old, senile and grouchy people are adorable. My friends grandfather is a short, bald, fat man, with a ridiculous moustache and who very well maybe the most racist person I have ever met. He's never happy, always complaining, and has a permanent grimace, with his eyes forming mean slits, which he views the world he hates through. Somewhat ironic considering his hatred of all Chinese, Japanese, and Asian people. Not to mention black, South American, Central American, Arab, Indian, Jews, Muslims, and basically anyone who isn't 100% white and Christian. Yet with his odd demeanour and frequent tyrannical rambles, all the girls think he is so cute! So it's the very young and the very old that get away with being unpleasant in both appearance and disposition. What about those in between? On my way here I pass a homeless man, with the most pungent smell I have ever blocked my nose to. The smell helped to highlight is scruffy, torn cloths that are at least two sizes too small, his balding on top, but long flowing on the sides and at the back, white hair, patchy beard, teeth that are either missing or yellow, and the foulest mouth this side of South Park. All of which go very well with his box house, and box toilet. More then begging, he spends his days drinking, if he can afford something, and harassing any passing women. Yet not a single one of these women has ever described him as adorable. They tend to shoo him with their meanest face, and deadliest heels. They run, screaming for help, and head straight for the bathroom to clean off the "homeless person germs" that have infected them, before they take over and render them homeless too. Where's the line? How fair is that? He really does smell though. Really bad. Shame, I guess the kid is cute, from a certain angle.

Chapter 7

Sometime I like to sit and pretend I’m doing something, you know, like reading the news paper, drinking coffee, eating breakfast, whatever, it doesn’t really matter since you’re just pretending. And while I’m pretending I watch. I watch the people around me, the people walking past, the people standing around, I watch everyone. Not in a wearing a pair of dark glasses, baseball cap pulled down low, box of doughnuts next to me, and binoculars or camera fixed to my eyes, kind of way. Nope, I’m not a stalker, just a watcher. As idiotic and annoying as people tend to be, they are still fascinating, and the most fascinating of all are those who don’t know I’m watching. You know the type, they’re walking down the street, lost in the crowd, being pulled along by the sea of people around them, and they have their cell phones fastened to their ears. Now generally if they were at home, or at work, having a conversation on their phones they’d be very secretive. Yet out in the crowd of strangers its as if they think if they don’t know you you’re deaf. Sound logic, but as I said, people tend to be morons. “What do you mean I have herpes? No they weren’t strangers, they were strippers.” Yup no one heard that buddy. Now we all know you’re just class. You may have an expensive suit on, hair that looks like it’s all yours and immaculately cut and styled, you may be waving around your keys, with their BMW key ring flashing around, your brown leather wallet could be filled with cash, credit cards, pictures of the wife, kids, new born baby and Fluffy the dog who likes to be called “Killer”, you may be off to fetch the mother in law to have her over for that lovely home cooked meal you’re wife slaved over all day, but when you think no one is paying attention - then you’re class comes shining through like that first ray of light under the blinds in the morning that blinds you as you open your sleeping eyes. Herpes from strippers. That’s plural. That’s class. All class. God I love days that start like this.