HELLOTE
It's been a few days since some of these events have occurred, and months since I last wrote here. Things have changed, admittedly; I'm not going to make promises I'm not necessarily inclined to keep--but I feel more like writing again. This always serves as a bit of an outlet for that sort of folderol, and I hope the few of you who might see this haven't missed me too terribly. (Though if you've missed me a bit at least, please know that I'm flattered.)
As usual, due to byzantine (but understandable) security requirements, getting writing transferred from where I wrote it to where I want it to be is a multi-step process, and sometimes that influences the spontaneity of the process. NOTE: Writing this has made it more considerably more banal in my reading than it was in experiencing, so if you're bored reading this then, well, too bad. First draft only is the rule here.
I'm pretty sure if you're still here, you're not interested in the apologies or explanations for my nonsense, but the nonsense itself.
As a growing young jackanape, one of my favourite games to make use of my newfound sense of extraversion was to try and weird the plebes out. This took relatively innocuous forms, though a favourite was anti-panhandling--wherein by making as if I was panhandling from the wealthy, I would give them change when they claimed they had none to part with. Two days ago, I met my own plebe-weirder, and I gotta tellya, he had no panache or finesse at all.
I first met him when I was walking alongside Alcoholic Layabout's Park; he was walking in parallel to me, making loud clicky noises with his tongue. I cast him a glance and then paid him no mind after that. He stopped beside me when we waited for a light to cross; he tried jaywalking, balked mid-lane at traffic, waited until the last second and dashed frantically back to me for safety when the traffic wouldn't yield.
"I'm just training for this hard world," he explained to me, with the slightly halting accent of the really dim or somebody struggling with English.
Just then (JUST THEN!) he dashed back across the road, making it safely. A woman across the way saw this and, earphones on, wasn't talkative but was conveying lots through body language: Did I just see that? Is he weird? I could speak that way too: A shrug, a look his way and a smile for her: Yeah, what a weirdo.
Then I caught her eyes again a moment later. We bid each other a greeting in passing, still silently. Already though, I was composing this piece of rubbish in my mind.
It turned out, though, that he wasn't so fast, so I got to see more freak-the-mundanes nuttery: He marched straight into the personal space of a real plump older man gabbling on his cellphone, sort of flowing around him only at the last second. The man was affronted and turned to shout invectives, and then kept on walking. I met his gaze.
"What a fucking moron," he informed me. Ah, whaddaya gonna do? "Yep," I agreed, though I didn't think he was a moron at the time, more like, "3dgy rebel". Threedgy, yes. Look it up sometime.
His next target was a woman who was crushed with exhaustion just by the looks of her, scarcely able to walk with her groceries and not having enough energy to pay much attention to aught else. Threedgy there raised up a hand as he approached, fingers wiggling to try and gain attention, and then as he got within arm's length of the lady suddenly clenched his hand into a fist. She was too tired to notice, fortunately.
Then, finally, as Threedgy stopped to pat a dog and talk to its owners, I was able to pass again, though I wasn't left alone for long: he'd caught back up to me. Maybe he was going to sneak up on me, but I am blessed with outstanding peripheral vision.
"You must be kinetic!" he proclaimed, and when I favoured him with a bit of a quizzical look, he added, "telekinetic."
"Ah, no, I can see your shadow," I answered, and cast a glance downward, gesturing at his shadow, which I hadn't used at all. Maybe this weirded him out, because he stopped talking--and that was good, because I have never in my days seen such a nasty set of brown teeth. They'd transcended mere yellow, these were the brown teeth of a person whose only contact with a toothbrush was trying to smoke it, or maybe meth mouth for all I know. I could believe that.
As usual, due to byzantine (but understandable) security requirements, getting writing transferred from where I wrote it to where I want it to be is a multi-step process, and sometimes that influences the spontaneity of the process. NOTE: Writing this has made it more considerably more banal in my reading than it was in experiencing, so if you're bored reading this then, well, too bad. First draft only is the rule here.
I'm pretty sure if you're still here, you're not interested in the apologies or explanations for my nonsense, but the nonsense itself.
As a growing young jackanape, one of my favourite games to make use of my newfound sense of extraversion was to try and weird the plebes out. This took relatively innocuous forms, though a favourite was anti-panhandling--wherein by making as if I was panhandling from the wealthy, I would give them change when they claimed they had none to part with. Two days ago, I met my own plebe-weirder, and I gotta tellya, he had no panache or finesse at all.
I first met him when I was walking alongside Alcoholic Layabout's Park; he was walking in parallel to me, making loud clicky noises with his tongue. I cast him a glance and then paid him no mind after that. He stopped beside me when we waited for a light to cross; he tried jaywalking, balked mid-lane at traffic, waited until the last second and dashed frantically back to me for safety when the traffic wouldn't yield.
"I'm just training for this hard world," he explained to me, with the slightly halting accent of the really dim or somebody struggling with English.
Just then (JUST THEN!) he dashed back across the road, making it safely. A woman across the way saw this and, earphones on, wasn't talkative but was conveying lots through body language: Did I just see that? Is he weird? I could speak that way too: A shrug, a look his way and a smile for her: Yeah, what a weirdo.
Then I caught her eyes again a moment later. We bid each other a greeting in passing, still silently. Already though, I was composing this piece of rubbish in my mind.
It turned out, though, that he wasn't so fast, so I got to see more freak-the-mundanes nuttery: He marched straight into the personal space of a real plump older man gabbling on his cellphone, sort of flowing around him only at the last second. The man was affronted and turned to shout invectives, and then kept on walking. I met his gaze.
"What a fucking moron," he informed me. Ah, whaddaya gonna do? "Yep," I agreed, though I didn't think he was a moron at the time, more like, "3dgy rebel". Threedgy, yes. Look it up sometime.
His next target was a woman who was crushed with exhaustion just by the looks of her, scarcely able to walk with her groceries and not having enough energy to pay much attention to aught else. Threedgy there raised up a hand as he approached, fingers wiggling to try and gain attention, and then as he got within arm's length of the lady suddenly clenched his hand into a fist. She was too tired to notice, fortunately.
Then, finally, as Threedgy stopped to pat a dog and talk to its owners, I was able to pass again, though I wasn't left alone for long: he'd caught back up to me. Maybe he was going to sneak up on me, but I am blessed with outstanding peripheral vision.
"You must be kinetic!" he proclaimed, and when I favoured him with a bit of a quizzical look, he added, "telekinetic."
"Ah, no, I can see your shadow," I answered, and cast a glance downward, gesturing at his shadow, which I hadn't used at all. Maybe this weirded him out, because he stopped talking--and that was good, because I have never in my days seen such a nasty set of brown teeth. They'd transcended mere yellow, these were the brown teeth of a person whose only contact with a toothbrush was trying to smoke it, or maybe meth mouth for all I know. I could believe that.