Clack Click Clack

One day when the sky was so blue it was impossible to take your eyes off it, the shamble leg man bought a cassava melon and a sac of red and black, black and red jujubes. He sat beneath the ticktucking clock in front of the Waymart eying a wee boy with a crew-cut spinning marbles off the cub of a stick. He smiled, frowned, smiled and pinched his cheek, raising a red welt with the hook of his fingernail just below his eye, his twitching eye, the eye that never rested or stopped twitching, his mad crazy twitching eye. The wee marble spinning lad, teeth half in half out of his mouth, clacked the stick against the ground, rousting a fug of asphalt and pebbles. ‘I wish I had a rousting stick’ said the shamble leg man morosely. A bouncing baby boy bounced up down up and down the sideways in front of the Waymart, his weak calved mother trotting angrily behind. ‘Stop that bouncing’ she screeched, her face red with exhaustion. ‘Might I offer you a ripe fat cassava?’ the shamble man said to the red-faced woman. The wee boy stuck out his tongue, his eyes disappearing into the babyfat of his face. ‘Clack click clack…’ he yammered, ‘fuck a duck…’ The red-faced woman turned and smiled, ‘what a strange little cunt you are, all that babyfat and not a tosspot to piss in’. A fissure of golden sunlight fell willy-nilly across the shamble leg man’s brow. ‘Might I offer you a ripe fat cassava?’