Monday, June 9, 2014

Blood Testy

Up early for my blood test. My number was called as I plucked it from the machine. Out in no time.
    On the main for breakfast, two eggs, potatoes, beans and toast. And fruit. And coffee twice over, while reading a fantasy novel, book three of a trilogy that managed thirteen hundred pages without describing architecture or landscape. I'm glad one can write a book without having to get into the gory details that made Helm's Deep such a baffling chore to map out in my head.
    I recognized two parties from the clinic at the diner. The couple of man and woman, woman frail in wheelchair, man doting. And woman alone, middle-aged blonde hair piled in interesting brainwork, wardrobe colourful. This is the go-to place for after clinic chow-down. You fast for a blood test, you consider paying for a third egg or doing the lumberjack special, creton and all. I go hear at least once a year, their eggs are perfect. I always think I could use more toast but I get by. And I'm not ready to spring four bucks for a glass of Tropicana.
    On the way back I was hit up by two panhandlers to the tune of a dollar each. The first was a wiry older woman with blazing eyes. I felt I decked a curse with my dollar. The second was a haggard man come out of nowhere with a paper cup. I soon after, on my walk home, say a man tip head over his handlebars, I cried out 'oh shit!' as he was halfway through his move. The pedestrian in front of me ran to him, a moped driver stopped and helped him. I was free to carry on, only to pass an drifter with a guitar case on his back who made a stabby motion at me with his one free hand.
    All that made me stand on the corner and just slow down. The world was agitated this morning after my breakfast, the world was a tad hostile. These blood sacrifices aren't working any more.