No Idea

As I drifted around Sainsburys trying to avoid nasty old people, buggy pushers, workmen in flourescent jackets and chattering middle-aged women with silent husbands in tow my mind wandered off to sweeter things. Things like lipstick, poetry, blonde hair and erotic underwear propped up my sanity as they always always do. And when I got to the checkout I knew that within a few minutes I'd be off and away driving in whatever direction home is, and into the loving needle- sharp paws of Monty. It was going well. Until, coming up behind me, was a man clearly unwell. His loud voice spoke about queues, cider, the woman in the fish shop, insomnia and his Bi-Polar and after five minutes of this the comatose queuing customers just wanted out.

His choice of dress didn't help him make friends, head to toe in black, even his eyes being shielded by sunglasses. He sported a crucifix and his spiked dog collar had nothing to do with being a vicar. But he was articulate and clean, and I dare say a decent enough bloke, but to the average Joe he was a nuisance and a nutter. I shot a prayer up hoping he wouldn't corner me because I was tired and wanted to get home, unfortunately my prayer went unheard so as I packed my bags he asked loudly if I knew what Bi-Polar was, I said Yes, he laughed and in a booming voice said "I've met my new wife". The cashiers head couldn't get any lower, her eyes carefully avoiding the man in black and my own so I handed over my money and left.
I left him with his illness and as I walked away wondered how many of the bitching nasty tutting shit-scared customers had any idea of the hell he was in.