A middle-aged man in the traditional Punjab uniform (torn navy-blue shirt, baggy pants), slowly cleaning the dirt near the children's playground.
I was in the park all day, picking up peoples negligence "You missed that one over there filthy Asian" shouted the young child to my right. I said nothing. Stood still looking fiercely, he ran.
I caught Wilfred just before he was finished. Good Englishmen. The very few that shows respect to fine individuals like my self. 'On you way back?' I said. 'No, going to buy some licorice all-sorts, you know what I mean' he said. 'Offcourse I know what you mean, no wonder you never get ...' I said. 'Look at that gay guy with that asian' said a man abruptly cutting my speech. I said nothing. Stood still looking fiercely, he ran
(Telephone rings, next my bathroom)
Gandra-Pundro, was a knitting specialist, she sowed all the brand tags to those weird urban shirts.
'Kumar, I need to come, you know how dangerous you are' she said. 'No, you must stay, you're a specialist, who else is going to sow those tags on, the business will crack down' I said. She said nothing. A loud bang and consistent beep became apparent. That's her way of saying bye.
That mother and kiddy seen them once or twice. 'Can we take a seat?' the mother said. 'Especially reserved for you Madam' I said. 'We often come, just a lot of peculiar men around, would you so kindly look over us while we have our lunch?' She said. 'Oh yes, Madam the Englishmen are nothing but sheep, I show them my eyes and they will be running for their lives' I said. She kindly smiled. The kiddy touches me on the face; guess God gave me more...