Real Quick Sharp

The geezer looked at me, all offended like I had asked to watch him engage in an impromptu act of onanism. Or as if I had asked to borrow his wife in a vulgar act of ‘beast with two backs’.

Rewind three seconds and the event that gave rise to his look of incredulity was me walking up to him, as he stood, half slumped over the gym machine, as if he were a poodle marking his territory. I says to the geezer “mate, can I use this machine real quick-sharp?” This was the spark that changed him from a sweaty gym rat, to a testosterone fuelled prat. Clearly, I had caused him discontent. P’rahps the thought of sharing the machine with a brown infidel, such as I, were too much to bare.

An awkward moment was soon lifted by me turning around and walking off. Each second wasted was a second I could’ve been sprinting.