The man with three legs
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On the days it isn't late, doesn't break down and actually turns up, my bus arrives in the city centre in time to have a short wait before making its outward journey. It is during this brief respite that I am reminded of the nine years, while at my previous employer, that I had the chance to witness the wonders of this city's populace in their unnatural habitat, strolling through the city centre. Many of their exploits have already been blogged about on this very site. My new vantage, however, exposes a different, if smaller, set of characters.
First among this new batch of equals is a man with three legs. No, dear reader, there is no rude innuendo or euphemism to be had here. The third 'leg' in this case is an innocent walking stick. I gladly concede ample room that this gentleman of advancing years is no more peculiar than you or me. What draws my attention is simply his pace.
His routine is such that he arrives at the same time every day, crosses a busy road, and walks past my parked bus to some unknown destination. By this description, the event itself is unremarkable. Dozens of others do the same. The difference is that while it takes others mere seconds to make the journey, he takes minutes, and no small number of them.
Clearly he suffers some affliction that prevents him from walking with any haste or without the aid of a stick. Perhaps in his youth he was a sprightlier fellow. But those days, if they existed, have long since passed. Nevertheless, he resolutely insists on making his journeys on foot. And all credit to him. He does so admirably, if not quickly, and, judging by his expression, with good humour.
It is not unknown, during the road-crossing part of his journey, to have a tailback of vehicles queuing for some distance while the one at the front waits for him to get across. Many of them wouldn’t have been anywhere to be seen when he initially started to cross the road. So minimal is his sense of urgency that neither the smallest of cars nor largest of buses will hurry his pace. The part I find most amusing, since it is rarely timed so that I find myself on board one of the vehicles in said queue, is the expression of quiet amusement upon his face as he goes. One gets the impression the subtle comedy of the moment is not lost on him.
I confess I rather miss my morning walks through the city centre. I pass through it so briefly now that I hardly get to see any of the interesting characters it has to offer. The journey itself is increasingly dull. The regular characters on the bus just aren't interesting enough to earn their own blog. If not for that brief wait when my bus reaches its halfway point, I might have nothing to write about. Thank goodness, therefore, for the modest entertainment provided by a man with three legs.