on tough laws

“I respect tough laws. Back home if you steal they’ll cut off your hand. So nobody steals.”

So a Palestinian coffee shop owner (perhaps rather stereotypically) vented his frustration to me. A homeless lady had come into his establishment earlier in the day, she’d pretended to look at the menu, and when his back was turned she’d grabbed some muesli bars and drinks and made a run for it. He caught her, but much to his shock the police refused to do anything about it. Less than ten quid meant no charges apparently. So the lady was let off (having pocketed some of the food) and the owner was told to go back to his business. Continue reading “on tough laws”

on glory

I’ve seen glory in Berlin. They keep their streets clean there despite the odd graffiti. They speak English there because why not. They remember their past because leaflets line the streetlamps saying Fuck The AFD. They remember their past because ruins grab rudely toward the sky alongside chrome towers, because the fruits of war need to be seen as much as the fruits of peace. Continue reading “on glory”

on local colour

What is local colour? Local colour is when a glassy-eyed ancient hobbles across the Starbucks around closing time, her knees buckling with the effort, and hollers at the manager as loud as she can “Gerard! I’ll boot yer arse ye cheeky wee bastard.”
To which Gerard hollers back “Gerard! Meh meh neh meh neh meh neh.”
And all the staff, including Gerard, giggle and clap the old lady on the back.

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