Steve Cook on Sat, 8 Nov 1997 17:00:35 +0100 (MET)

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<nettime> parabol

i was walking along the street on my way to meet a friend. coming towards me 
was this deliveryman.he was carrying a huge basket of burger rolls, so big he 
could hardly see over the he went past McLawyers he sort of turned his 
head away and spat. then he tripped over this little brown dog that was on the 
other end of a piece of string from a human and did a kind of hop and a swoop 
and began running down the street trying to regain his balance. it's hard 
enough trying to get your balance unburdened by anything and this poor guy had 
this huge basket of bread, in his arms, pulling him down towards the ground. 
he ended up running like the wind, not losing his footing completely but not 
coming upright either. i watched the guy, he was like a sprinter lunging for 
an ever receding tape,and i knew instinctively how it was all going to end. he 
was heading straight for me so i stepped aside and as he passed, i legged him 
up....and he went down like a sack of spuds, his face in the basket of bread, 
onto the pavement. so i go over all sympathetic and help him pick his bread up 
and scrape some of the grit and dogshit off the bread that had spilled into 
the road. one of the buns had been run over by some sort of megatread 
mountainbike and had deep diamond shaped pits across a band of sesame studded 
grey paste. the little brown dog, trailing its string, nabbed that one, and i 
helped him carry the rest up an alley and round to the rear entrance of 
McLawyers. we took another eleven clean buns out of the basket, stuffed one up 
the exhaust pipe of a BMW parked in the managers personal parking port and 
lozzed the other ten into the back yards of the adjacent businesses. he took 
the buns in, exactly a dozen short due to some sort of mix-up at the bakery 
and got some wedge.
   it turned out that they wouldn't let him use the front entrance and since 
he couldn't get his van up the back alley, he had to park at the front on 
double yellows and walk round. this was because of two words tattooed on the 
first two fingers of his right hand - the manager type who had issued this 
decree was standing in the window of McLawyers as the guy got out of his van - 
hence the gob, hence the dog, hence the dogshit.he bought me a pint and we 
both went off to meet my friend.

----- End of forwarded message from Steve Cook -----
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