In which our intrepid hero reflects that it takes diff’rent strokes to rule the world.

I know I’ve been slack posting lately, but I actually have about four or five things half-written to put up here. I’ll get around to finishing them soon. Promise.

I just had an experience that I have to relate. There’s a luggage store on the ground floor of the building where I work, and every so often, I wander down there to have a ciggie and watch the world go by.

At about 4.40pm, I was outside, smoking, when I noticed a man heading up the street towards me. He was in his late thirties, slightly balding, wearing a black suit and carrying an umbrella and briefcase; I guess he was middle-management in some unremarkable company.

I stepped out of his way, but he stopped, did a double-take, walked backwards for about three metres and stared in the window of the luggage store. He stood there for a few seconds, transfixed, crouched over as if trying to conceal a hard-on.

I peered in the window, thinking that there must be some comely young lass in the shop, falling out of her top or something. But no—it was just wall-to-wall handbags and attaché cases.

I wish I could get that excited about accessories.

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