A pot-bellied bus driver with a bulldog face is wedged between Bath Ales and Wig & Pen on George Street having a smoke break. I’m headed to market, but I figure I’ll catch him on the way back. I don’t want to interrupt his meditation anyway.
He’s still there when I walk back and I sidle up next to him.
“Excuse me, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“I wanted to ask you your opinion on the homeless in Oxford. I know it’s a divided issue in the community.”
“Yeah. I don’t deal with that so I can’t help you.”
He gives me a solid fuck off look from under the rim of his black hat. I’d press him, but he’s bigger than a professional wrestler. I can’t help but feel like there is a personal reason to his curtness.
Word Slurpee 