My journey to the library

After finishing revising a chapter of France’s forth republic at a quarter to six today I decided to trundle over to the library to dip into Hunnic history, so wrapped up in my winter woollies I ventured out into the cold leaving my hall via the front entrance. Now I’ve been at Charles Morris for a couple of months and know the quickest routes to get to most places, and the quickest route to the library (now that construction work has finished) is past another Charles Morris block and round the back of the Union building. But the second I had stepped outside my hall I realised that I may have to change my plans, as leaning cautiously against the other Charles Morris block was a devious looking character. Now despite being initially put off by this mans appearance quite near my chosen path, I decided to walk as I had initially decided upon as the alternate route was not insignificantly lengthier, no hoody wearing lout was going to add an extra nine seconds onto my journey! So I walked precariously towards where he was standing careful not to give any eye contact until the crucial moment, then just as I passed I gave him a fleeting glance and our eyes lingered on one another for a brief moment, this was just as a gesture to say ‘look, we are both humans, we both exist, I acknowledge that you are here and are more than just the brick wall upon which you lean’. But he took proceedings outrageously further by saying right out loud ‘youright mate?’. Well I was dumbfounded, just because we both exist does not mean that we need to get all cuddly feely about it, not only was this a request for verbal recognition of his existence but he also required me to turn back upon myself to answer, a privilege only reserved for those close to my heart, or at least people I vaguely know or find attractive. So slightly miffed at his audaciousness I cunningly replied over my shoulder ‘yeah, yourself?’. But my words were in vain, as he ignored them and lobbed another unheeded question at me ‘spo-wee?’ he said, tapering his voice towards a higher pitch so as to kindly alert me that this car-crash of a sentence was actually a question. ‘Pardon?’ I replied. ‘spot of weed?’ he said more slowly, again with the questioning tone. No thanks I muttered, and I turned back around and continued on my way. I guess I should have trusted my first instinct and steered clear of the hooded rapscallion, but as it was he didn’t hinder my progress by more then nine seconds, so it’s not really worth losing sleep over.