What We Carry

Published on Friday, 18 April 2014, 11:52am

I stand beside a parking meter on Great George Street, opposite to “Space’s” doorway having a smoke break from a group that I attend, and watch the hierarchic parade of this so called classless society, pass by. Most of the types trot, slouch, saunter and stride along this street. Executives, nurses, students, hustlers, hung-over drunks, the self-satisfied and the hopeless, yeah, they are all there.

A well-dressed executive trots by, clutching his bulging attaché case in one hand – his other hand taming his flapping three-quarter raincoat in his breeze.

‘I’ve plenty of time,’ he mutters glancing at his watch and slowing down slightly.

He frowns, starts hurrying … ‘Wonder what gripe Al’ll have today? Always has something to argue about, but I’ve had it before, I can cope … I think …?

‘I bet it’ll be about the new installations…but I’ve got all the figures here – and they make sense, he can’t make much of an issue about that …? No, I’ve got him there …’

He trots along, contented again; he hesitates, feels in his pocket, checks his fountain pen …

‘Yeah, full…’

Glances at his watch and trots a bit faster. He stops abruptly, apologises to a youth behind him and brings out his wallet, flips through the notes and then searches for a business card, he finds the one he wants, sighs and replaces his wallet in his jacket’s inside pocket. He walks along more relaxed now, then frowns, glances again at his watch and hurries again.

His mobile rings. Struggling with his flapping raincoat, he drops his brief case, ‘Damn…’ he mutters, and gets his phone from his pocket; looks at it; decides it’s not important, shoves it hurriedly into his pocket and fairly runs into the entrance of an office complex.