areiamus

Is there a more depressing sight in our world of ‘haves’, bounded in poverty by a trolley full of Home Brand, despair by missing the express train, and hardship by walking an extra block for coffee due to the length of the queue, than people waiting at a bus stop in the rain? Huddled against the elements in positions precisely calculated to maximise individually-acceptable ratios of personal-space-to-weather-exposure while minimising the possibility of eye contact, they stare out into the wet rush of traffic with a frightened attentiveness, at the bus that’s 7 minutes (plus obligatory lateness multiplied by probability of non-existence) away but could be right there and if you’re not watching you’ll miss it?

Unable to depend on each other to signal the bus down, they squint at the yellow-and-ads coloured shapes as they hiss by, each arrogantly displaying the wrong destination. When they finally recognise ‘their’ bus as it turns the bend, the matadors’ bodies tense in anticipation of the urgent (yet modest) flicks they’ll make to entice the driver to halt - some using a sodden newspaper, for others their pale hand, with a half-wave or as though they’ve a question to ask in class.

“Almost none,” was the reply. Smith looked amazed, almost too surprised to be angry. Almost.

“Well why in the Hell not?” he demanded, raising his hand to slap the reticence from the man. The gesture had its intended effect: the wretch bent lower to the ground, speaking to the inexplicable paisley designs woven into the sumptuous carpet.

“If it pleases, Mr Smith, I do not wish to tire his Eloquence with boring tales of what’s beyond-”

“You consider my interests boring, lout?”

“Not at all, sir, my most humble and millenial apologies to your Graciousness-”

“Spit it out or you’ll spit teeth!”

“Of course, my most favourably-disposed lord. I scoured every larder in the fiefdom for any trace of smoked cheese but there was not the merest morsel to be had for any price or show of arms - and little else left in those larders besides that, your Wondrousness,” the fool babbled, words spilling out in his eagerness to quit the conversation & Smith’s audience.

“The contents of a commonsfolkian larder are exactly what do bore me. And so what did those filthy little people say when you demanded a reason for my cheese’s absence, you guano-mongerer?”

“They’d eaten it all, your Excellency.”

“Nyoro~n”