Exercise in Style in Four Ways

Innocence

He looks funny, like a dwarf, or a midget (don’t tell mum; I’m not allowed to use those words). But yes, like he should be in a circus! He has a black hat and suit on and a big round tummy. He smiles at me as I walk past but I look away quick; his eyes look dark and scary. A girl walks towards us, hurrying past with shopping bags. Mum pulls at my hand as I turn to see the midget man smiling at the girl then like a sad clown a frown comes on his face and he looks mean and tuts loudly as the girl says ‘sorry I’ve no change’.

   Later on we get out the car at our apartment and I see her again. The same girl! She must live across the street from us. I stand and stare as Mum unpacks the car. The girl opens up her front door then I hear her say a bad word (shit) as she slides on something, then the door closes behind her. Mum shouts at me then ‘to hurry up’ and that’s when I see him, the little funny man, well I think it is him, the shape  of his shadow walking down our street.

Slang

Aye so as ah wis sayin, ah saw this wee fella yi ken wan ay those wee arseholes frae Romania or the likes outside Aldi’s, wee fucker had the cheek tae tut at this wee lassie as she walked past. Ah heard her, yi know wan ay those posh birds frae the West-end or summit, she said clear as day; ‘Sorry I’ve not got any change’ an the wee shit tutted at her. Who the hell dae they think they are comin oer here in bein little fuckin pricks tae the local lassies?

   Worst ay it is, ah wis walkin ruind tae Malkies yi know fir a wee tot an that, an there she wis the posh bird goin intae a flat right across the street! Ah couldnae believe it. Ah watched as she opened the door and she fuckin slid, I’m no tellin a lie, right nearly ended by tits oer arse. Ah heard her say ‘Shit’. (Aye even the posh wans swear). Next thing ah see is this wee cunt, you know fuckin Mr Romania, am sure it wis him, wee stocky build an aw that. Ah said tae masel what the fuck is that wee prick doin up here? Jist then Malkie buzzed me in an ah wis right chockin fir a puff so ah didnae ken wit happened next yi know if he wis some sorta mad stalker or no.   

Univocal

Old Romo clown no frown, looks for scowls mostly for snob

moms who do sorry. Shows good work; no con, no food! Blows

howl onto cool form of Scots. [Lots own lots] Not so; old clown,

so down. Not crook, or hook. Snort, snort, shorty, yo, so shorty!

Born no gold. So cold Scots, most mock. Follow snob cow from

door to door. Fool to confront, fool not to. Show lots of Romo

roots, no look now; poof! Socks, boots, cord, cloth, worn for too

long. Down, down, no swoon snob cow. Poop scoop. Sorry now?

Blurb

He stands there all day, sometimes spoken to, sometimes given a quick smile, but mostly invisible. No-one knows his story but he knows theirs. The lonely women who will chat but don’t buy, the hurried mothers who pretend to scold their child as they walk past so they don’t have to look at him, the teenagers who laugh openly at him; try to steal his hat. Little is known of his background. The things he has done, the things he has seen, the things he has escaped from.

It all comes to a head the day he meets her and seeks his revenge.