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Kismet
As we walked to a very early dentist's appointment near Edgware Road the market sellers were setting up their stalls. Overheard the persistent cawing of seagulls and around us the incessant chatter of small huddles of schoolchildren. We walked past somebody setting up trinkets and novelty items, an iron-mongers, scarves and gloves, a fish-mongers, a fruit stall and finally a doom-mongers.
"Get'cher doom here! Cheapest doom in London!" he yelled with the practiced bellow of an auctioneer or primary school teacher.
He must have arrived much, much earlier than anyone else as he'd already set out his wares.
"Nibblets of despair, just two'poun' a bag! Suicide squids fresh out of the lake of gloom! Sadness available by the kilo! Get your nice prime cut doom steaks here!"
We paused to look, and true enough his prices were incredibly reasonable for an inner city market.
"Did you fancy some doom later?" asked my darling girlfriend. I didn't really know.
"Morning miss, looking for some niggles of doubt? Maybe I can interest you in a whole insecurity complex? I'd offer you a personal tragedy or two but it looks like you've already brought one with you"
Market stall blokes always pick on me for some reason, I think its because I just exude some sort of aura of spinelessness and nobody ever really loved me in my life. Life just isn't fair for me.
"Oi! No free samples!"
Jun.12.2007