Strange folks abroad

My people, there are some strange folks around. That’s a mighty fact. Strange folks abroad.

You know them. I know you know them. I have met a few of them in my time. And I am sure you have too. Strange, strange, strange. Straaaaaaaaaaange folks abroad.

That loose mouth friend that talks about you all the time behind your back. You know it, and other people know it, but you never ever quite got the proof.

The people who say the nastiest horribliest things. Just. For. The. Sake. And feel nothing. As you struggle for breath.

The person who knows things about you. Many things. Things you never knew about yourself. You are awed by the psychic power as they fill in your memory ga(s)pses in your life.

Your best friend for life, who never gets you any help. Nada. Never. The one that everyone goes to for help. The one that gives help to everyone. The one that knows where you can get everything and where you can find anything. But never when it’s your need. Never in your case.

The today your pal, tomorrow your enemy person. It’s a “wrong side of the bed scenario” that you will never understand.

The unavailable. Never available when you want to meet up with them, but requires that you be available when they need to see you. And sulks if you dare deny them their emergency right to you.

The bouncer. Always always bounces. Be it a call. A drink. A meeting. A delivery. And they always have a good reason. Always. And you never meet them. Or get the goods.

The shadowy lovely wonderful honest, full of integrity person. Totally transparent person. Except the constant little niggling rumours. That they never resigned from any of their previous jobs, but were “advised to leave”, for reasons unknown. That they had a child when they were in high school, that no one ever saw.

That somewhere they have a spouse and child/ren. No proof at all. But the rumours never quite go away.

The blockhead. The one who who never understands anything. Ever. Directions. Plans. Plots. Novels. Books. Nada.

The constantly on replay mouth. Tells you the same story over and over and over and over and over again ad infinitum. And every time they tell you, you tell them “you have told me this before”, until one day you snap. And do something “what happened”.

The unoccupationed. The person that no one knows what they do. You all see them. All the time. All the places. No one knows what they do. Where they live. Where they come from. Where they go to.

The vague person. Who does nothing. They do not work. They do not have a business. They are always busy. Coming from meeting someone at somewhere and going to the next place, next body. They tell you they have mad hectic days, all up and about, but you know not what they do. Or what they do.

The uncalculatable. Their life just does not add up. Or subtract down. You do the math. Where they live. Who they live with. How they live. What they do. Who they do. And it just does not add up. Their one plus one looks like minus five or plus twenty.

The traveler. Person who disappears. Every so scheduled often. Or makes a journey. E very so scheduled often. Where they go. Who they see. How they see. What they do. Who they do. No one knows. Will ever know.

The person who knows everyone. Everywhere. All the time. They walk into any room, any time, any place, any town, and they know someone. You wonder what life they are on right now. Eleventh?

The person who never picks up their phone but always calls you back. Shareholder in phone company? You wish. Why can they never pick up the phone? Busy persona? Expecting your gratitude that they managed to squeeze in a quick call to you in between their back to back appointments. As they dot-not with KOTs and take a huggie.

The chameleon. Whose past changes, depending on who they tell and when they tell it.

The corrector. They know everything about everything and can never ever ever EVER be wrong. At all. They are correct all the time. Their knowledge is fact. And they correct you.

Strange strange folks abroad.

Remain normal.

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