stories of sight loss and experience

/ Nice To Be Nice

Night, traffic lights, I’m waiting to cross, a man appears next to me, says you all right crossing the road there mate, I say yes mate I’m fine thank you, says you sure, I say yes mate, he puts the back of his hand across my chest, in some way protective, in some way provocative, removes his hand, says nice to be nice, walks across the road, the lights haven’t changed yet, leaves me waiting to cross still, wondering what he meant, nice to be nice, whether it was a reproach or a reminder, if I was somehow in the wrong for refusing his help, nice to be nice, why I feel so put upon, if perhaps he also felt put upon, possibly why he said it, or he just said it because it was on his mind, meant nothing by it at all, just carried on, so what?


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