Irrelevant Musings Of the Everyday Human Chapter 2 - Shall We Leave Now?

*The second chapter of a project that is scheduled to eventually become a short novel. The novel will provide insight into the narrator's generally ordinary lifestyle and focus on characterisation.

~~It was another day in what people who were generally unaware of the ins and outs of human life in general might call paradise. A day involving a friend who I often refer to as Mr Wilk’s. I realised my previous mc scribbling ventures didn’t use description a whole lot, so I’ll try and sort that out. This aforementioned friend of mine stands relaxed affront a substantially sized train station entrance, wearing a medium shade burgundy jumper that at some point was meticulously knitted to look the way it was- the interwoven pattern looks a bit like a set of thin DNA spiral staircases, this isn’t intentional, and it probably looks nothing like that to everyone else. I don’t know who actually knitted the jumper but I’d like to think it was fairies- frustrated fairies who don’t even get paid the minimum wage, which in their world, is two acorns per fairy hour because they’re time works differently- they vote for the number 1 Christmas record well in advance (yeah, don’t worry- I’m not sure what all that means either). It covers the brim of his black jeans that have oddly faded in colour somewhat around the knees to look more grey- granted, a very dark grey that can only just be differentiated from the pitch black used to colour the rest of the trouser. His shoes are similarly coloured- from a distance one would be forgiven for assuming they were actually part of the trousers. His ensemble also features a light grey beanie hat with a partially upturned brim, less light in shade than the rest of the hat.  The day itself deserves some description- the light seems to be fluctuating from blinding to dismal within seconds- the temperature remains at average warmth, this is not a bad thing. The roads are an oddly light grey and even odder, they’re crafted to be obscenely smooth- something not seen a lot in this day and age. The building we stand in front of is decorated with similarly smooth bricks- the colour of which differs slightly between individual bricks – some are glaringly crimson others are a lighter shade of red which display some characteristics of a dark orange. The entrance we stand outside of is home to currently open relatively large iron bars, which have been exposed to the previous, harsher elements – making them yet another grey item that’s currently in my visual line. The people who emerge from the entrance we stand on either side of do differ from one another in looks and clothing- but perhaps not as much as they should, given the amount of variety the human form can technically allow. Describing every individual would give me a headache- and you, probably. I will point out that the hairstyle involving a thick layer of curled quaffed or otherwise wavy hair atop the crown of one’s head while surrounded by meticulously shaved sides and back is unjustly popular. I hope the people currently sporting this will reminisce on the days in which they sported this and laugh, or despair at, their poor judgment. If that day never comes, then my faith in humanity will never restore itself. The employment of jeans that are catered to co-operate directly with the leg while unnecessarily rolled up at the ankle is also curiously common among the population crowds. ‘What phone have you got?’ a relatively high, but masculine slightly slurred voice requests. It sounds like it could be projected from an old but still functioning tape recorder. I feel I should clarify we aren’t being asked questions by a tape recorder – though that would be awesome ‘gentlemen, this is a message from the future- mankind depends on whoever finds this message- by the way, just out of curiosity , what phone have you got? Yes, you with the hat on, yeaaah you’re wondering how I can see you aren’t you? Well, this is the strange bit- so am I'. Either that or it’s a human being attempting to sound like a tape recorder like the guy from police academy- oh it would be great if he was suddenly at a train station in Britain asking people what phones they had so he could emulate the noises of them. I swear that guy has powers- like a C list power I’d say. What would a D list power be? Probably the ability to control combs or something- because while you don’t notice it so much, there are plenty of combs around. One day you could be walking down the street and suddenly ‘OH my word! That man is holding up that hairdressers if only I could use my powers to restrain him OH WAIT yes I can! Combs do my bidding!’ .Wow, how did I get onto those subjects? .On a more relevant note: We soon realise that this question about phones is aimed at the aforementioned Mr Wilks and asked by a relatively elderly man. The man’s face is patterned with small complex wrinkles that don’t look unlike faint miniature forks of lighting that are only marginally darker than the rest of his skin tone. Forks of lightning that occupy a human beings face, yes, that’s right- we just have to accept these things sometimes. Mr Wilks politely answers in great technical detail- I didn’t catch a word of what he actually said. ‘What phone have you got?’ he enthusiastically and amiably asks the man. The man cautiously scratches his head- the hair of which is cut finely, dark grey in overall colour but with glaring patches and roots of a blacker shade with a downward pointed fringe that is almost in direct alignment with one of the brow lines on his forehead. ‘The police took mine’ the man honestly states, there is a distinct tone of awkwardness and unmistakeable shame in his voice when he says this- though maybe not enough of either, since he’s telling two total strangers about run ins with the law. ‘Awh what’s this?’ my companion asks in a mock accusing and boisterously inquisitive voice- while I stand there and wonder why he actually wants to know. The man replies in a more grizzly roughened and less clear voice than his other comments ‘I was doing something I shouldn’t have been’. ‘Bad?’ my companion Mr Wilks once again asks with understated concern and curiosity. I become curiously concerned about why he wants to know, and of course over what the answer is assuming the man gives one. ‘Bad’ he modestly and unhappily admits- and a bloody good thing modesty is used as well, I’d be warier if it wasn’t. But this has not helped. I mean I have no idea what this man did now- he might have been forcing himself sexually into an innocent woman or a minor….while ordering takeaway on the phone. Disgusting- how dare he order takeaway. Oh, and the other thing- yeah that’s also unforgivable. He could have been beating the proverbial out of his long suffering wife until she became severely bruised and bloodied...with his phone.
'Have you got any money I can borrow?' he cautiously asks Mr Wilks with an apparently characteristic slur.
Mr Wilks' arm confidently dives into the depths of his pockets – where I would like to think he'll find another dimension which is guarded by a bloodsucking cupcake rowing a boat though a sea literally crafted from riddles. Disappointingly though he only finds a menagerie of metallic colours in circular forms (different coins- if I wasn’t making that clear enough). His arms begins to twitch as he rummages the coins around in his palm- making a noise one might imagine a piece of cheese and a snake would make if they were fighting each-other in a fight where they threw chains   
With interwoven marshmallows at each other. Imagine a fight like that
Anyway- that is entirely irrelevant. Mr Wilks provides the man with a one pound coin. The man takes the money, and says 'I'm not gonna lie- I’ll spend it on a can of beer'
'Yeah that’s fair enough man' Mr Wilks cheerfully responds 'We fancy a few bevs too' he says looking over to me and inquisitively twitching his eyebrows. The man then walks off his black waterproof coat gradually becomes smaller as he walks (Because he's walking away- he isn’t shrinking- though that would be amazing to watch- I wish it did happen now). I turn to Mr Wilks- and in one sentence he confirms my suspicions that he was weary of his phones safety at the start of the conversation. I ask him something I think I'm obliged to after that event: Shall We Leave Now?