'T has been but two days, and already I miss you, dearly. Much has happened today. Where do I begin? First of all, something inside me told me to wake from my dream, so I did. Thirty seconds later the phone rang. It was the ex, the stalker one. I lined her up with some Sand Monkey to get her off my back, and she was out front doing something with her car, cleaning out her old dear's house, who died a while back (shortly after her and this Sand Monkey boy got together). Anyway. He comes out, and is slamming his bicycle around, getting all heavy with her (he's always pissed off about something or other). I called her back and told her to phone the Police, after he had stormed off. He came back, and was very angry (more so than usual, normally in her house he snatches food from her plate, telling her "women should not be allowed to eat such food" - in her own home, no less! - and in the same breath, intimidates her). So, anyhow. He jumps in his car, it won't start, and eventually the engine springs to life, and he takes off.
I go to my gig (the band split up last week, amicably, Gulliver went to town, moved back to where he came from, our Great Nation's capitol).
En route to work, I cross this guy, a young thug I am dimly aware of through moving in nefarious circles in my wayward misspent youth. He has blood all over his face. The lady next to me said, "Oh, that's just halloween paint." Um, no lady. I told her, "Whoever hit him was right-handed." I carry on walking. In town I see him again, and he says, "I beat him up." bragging to some younger boys. Evidently it was not paint.
Next, I bump into a lovely Irish Lady I know, who is a Classical linguist (graduated with Honours and a first, two years erstwhile, from the Hallowed Hall of Walton, MK). I read her the poem I wrote her, she loved it.
At the gig I bump into said Sand Monkey. He usually engages me in conversation, but this time he thrice shot me a look like he was looking for trouble. I call the stalker. Seemingly she told him that I told her to call the Police. Not only this, but (not for the first time) she implied that she had been with me, to make him jealous.
This man murdered his ex-wife (I was the translator on that gig, his "sorrow" was very overplayed, and a lot of money was involved, which all ended up in Tunisia - Carthage). This Sand Monkey is sleeping with one of his five sisters, his only other brother has serious physical and mental disabilities, and his father is very old, so the onus falls on him to earn the money. After he got together with the stalker, her mother sadly passed away (mysteriously), and again, a lot of money was involved, which again, ended up in Tunisia.
So, I return to my house, after work, with some crazy ass Sand Monkey gunning for me, and a stalker neighbour who is stirring up trouble. Incase anything should happen (heaven forbid) I am writing this diary entry as potential posthumous evidence, for the circumstances surrounding my possible death.
I'm betting that this Sand Monkey won't do anything, as the bully usually only attacks women, for money, then sleeps with his sister.
No comments:
Post a Comment