remote cards

Coming up to a road that cuts across the pedestrianised section of Buchanan Street, there are lights at the crossing. Cutting across there is a guy, grey t-shirt, greying blue jeans that are knee length shorts. He is heavy built, short dark hair, trainers, and seems to be holding a conversation. But then, it’s the modern condition, people in the street holding conversations are probably on the phone. His arms swing loose at his side as he shuffles and limps along the curb. Well, ok, maybe its an ear piece, one of those blue tooth things you see inserted their like it’s a physical implant. I hold back from walking to the curb, because if I don’t he will walk into me, as I do so I watch him, checking for the ear phone, but no, he doesn’t have one. He is, in fact, talking to himself, and from the tone he is giving himself a hard time. I watch him pass on his way, a couple along stopping from stepping into his path, similarly they watch, with bemused looks on their faces in response.

Labels: glasgow, guy, talking to self