Went out for a walk today. And a smoke. And I met this old boozehound along the way, sloshed out of his balls, running the razor's edge behind a particularly violent truck.
And what did he say? Nothing much. He was drunk. It was just interesting, watching him chase that monster along the thin little asphalt strips that pass for roads around my pad. I wondered what happened to him afterwards. When I returned, there was a big enough crowd on the way, and I couldn't see through them; but I could guess what they were hiding.
How? 'Coz I saw the truck driver not too far away, held by several members of our disgustingly moral society.
Accidents. So many of them have been happening around here. And five of them involved two-wheelers. I'm just wondering when I get my turn on the stage.
Driving a bike along Wagholi is just begging for trouble. The sad thing is, the traffic couldn't care less unless there's a sizable difference between victim and wannabe murderer. And they're immensely bored. So the slightest excuse for an accident will do, providing it involves a biker and an obscenely large truck. And a Punjabi, preferably.