Snapshot 1
"But if you by two shades, it's £10... innit?" said the young Black man in the interesting colloquial. "Nah..." started the old White lady with added reverb in her puffed cheeks. "Gerald!" she screams!
[ENTER GERALD] a swirly little fellow, boring grey/brown hair; the type he'd have had since fifteen years old; swotting for GCSE related statistics exams to avail triumphant with 'concentration and focus'. An explanation et voile!
"No, boys." He was referring to the young Black man and his equally young and Black friend. A trip ensues that drags the three men to the point of origin in sale of sunglasses. A real three seconds of land. "There, you see that? Good quality stuff and bargain prices. It's fourt'een though. Twent'ee for tha two of 'em. You won't get this for less than twent'ee a pair on the 'I street." Slow nodding. The second of the two information recipients inspects the sign that reads 'two for £10". Oh why silly him; this symbol is the finance involvement for the petticoat basket. Situated right next to the designer lampshade container. In the premise of ill design — too many wicker baskets and not enough time (or space), too many decisions to play at sporadic pace. Well the two now spotted these 'designer' lampshades; a redesign of number one's mother's front hallway (if this is indeed the correct form), he negotiated the duly noted cans of fruit cocktails adjacent to the foaming bath; the sets of boxed orange colour-fazed plates, next to the bed sheets and bedspreads; salt 'n' pepper shakers by tissued cup cake makers, baked beans to children's books: join the dot scenes. From a small ball and a petit cricket bat; which had surround to a mirror wicket, bead ornament bails and toilet brush (with holder) stumps... howzaaaat!
A look of I know you and self-punishment told the number one young Black fellow 'this bait I'm wiv is such a div, yeah. 'ow can you not see dat... you need glasses, you twat.' To which the solitary word of a response came back. 'Move.' Number two went on his way.
An extra £10 to be spent. Mother One will be pleased, though he is not.
Marvin Approximated
Marvin exiled. Nothing of interest really. Though cheap the theme of such a climate there was none for the almost penniless hybrid. Cash in hand was not in hand, currently...
...The bank! No, a store for else. Unconcerned was Marvin's demeanour — swagger. So, passed on to the building for which trees (in variant and shortened form) fly by night to destinations known only by ink stains. Flattened, you know, reader, to this one side from that other. Away each goes; veils of trust through the system (of sort)...
...What is this worth to Marvin? He just looks at a bona-fide way to annoy the world. (Well maybe just New Cross.) Mother and son stood many years waiting for the lines to grow smaller (grow small?) and get moving closer to the lady that argues, miss-files, stutters but is ultimately the Chief of Un-Interest.
Onwards! And a wait upon the people carriage; two 'lines' of the able and not so. Buses have changed a great deal during Marvin's life time but what had not was his ability to travel short distances for free. Marvin enjoyed the benefit of aide, however, he still had to endure some of the negative; the wait. The 'is it?' 'It looks big and red but it's not ours.' Little old ladies discuss creeping centimetres forward... then back again! 'First in line, love. The others don't care why should I?' (As a writer, I maybe being harsh!)
