Oblong Scone

She’s always there. The pain in her voice elongating her unsteady words. ‘Biggggg Issueeeeee’ she’ll suggest to each person as the first push of fresh-air excitedly licks them in the face on exiting the Galleries Shopping Centre. Occasionally someone might stop and buy a magazine, hand over some change, or gift a cigarette. But mostly it’s eyes down and apologetic grunting; maybe a slight extra push on the heels to help the guilt melt away that little bit quicker. Except with me it’s different: when I walk past not a word – stony lost silence. It’s not that she’s taken offense to anything I’ve said or done. I’ve never reacted to her or had a reaction from her. Her eyes always look so far through me: a stare that may just circumnavigate the entire Earth. I should be grateful than I don’t have to posture an embarrassed refusal to her sales request, but I feel singled-out - soulless in the centre of Bristol. And it’s not just once. I’ve actually done a circuit - gone back into the centre...

I don’t like pushing in the petrol pump trigger anymore – it makes me feel slightly ill. The dizzying spinning of the cost indicator racing ahead of faded former champion ‘number of litres'. Then the anger: An anger born from the creeping sense of throwing away money, amplified by annoyance at the girl behind the counter who still smiles even though she's taking money off me she doesn't deserve. I want an apologetic stance from her; a downbeat glum acceptance of the times we live in. She could wear black to mourn the passing of affordable travel, raising her veil as I approach. She'll look into my eyes and tell me how sorry she is that things have worked out this way. Back in the car, and my post fuel purchase driving is affected by my bad mood. I believe such a sharp upturn in the cost of driving should be compensated by an enhanced experience: Emptier roads; traffic lights who’s green hue stalks me. I want people standing on the pavement clapping and cheering, unfurl...