The owner of Camelot Stores near the Mater Hospital is an irascible and silently menacing sort. I've noticed this a few times now on the walk home from work, stopping in on occasion to catch my breath and peruse his Use By dates and selection of cut mixed peel.
He just sits there with eyes following me around the shop, my newfangled hoodie giving the lie to trouble, the spectacles on my face fixing the situation. Scumbags don't wear glasses.
I was on the hunt for some green tea - coffee now a thing of the past - and eventually found some behind the Barrys and Lyons staples.
"That's green tea," he grouched when I approached the counter.
"That's GREEN TEA. Not NORMAL TEA!"
"I... I know. I'm able to read."
He threw my change back at me with eyes that said Vishnu's gonna get you, sunshine, gonna get you good for your sarcastic ways so I legged it as quickly as my yellah legs could carry me.
I suppose all I can wonder now is what led him to believe I was a dunce?