by C.A. Riddell
What is it with women and shopping? I'd rather be home, watching the game. But here I am, trekking round town. Behind her. Again.
Where to now? Who knows? Who cares?
Another revolving door. Another slow moving, metal ascent. So many feet. Arms and legs superfluous Except...
“Here, take these.”
Bags. Heavy bags. First floor, ladies lingerie. More conveyor belt culture...
Rising... Rising... Regret.
"Hey, watch it, Mister!" She shouts. I cringe.
Bullying me is one thing, but ...
So, Schwarzenegger's cousin elbowed her in the ribs. But, if she thinks I'm ....
Besides, the man's in a hurry.
Hey, isn't that..?
"Pete! I don't believe it.”
"You know this guy?" The wife sucks in her cheeks. Yellow, wrinkled apple, past its sell-by...
"Sure. Pete and I are mates."
A slapping of backs, a mutual grin, the wife grabs my plastic. She's off..
"What's happening, Pete? It's been a while. This is the last place I'd expect... “
“Well, Hal, I'm on the run.”
“No. In fact...”
He takes me to an exit, leading to a bridge. Police are down below. I hear a siren. Recall...
Breaking and entering, fraud... Pete was quite a lad, as I remember. I won't be an accessory, and yet...
“I can trust you, can't I, Hal? I recognise that shady look.
“Sure, Pete. Always could.”
“Well, see that pub over there? Don't tell the missus...”