Mind For War- The Lollipop Man

I see you.

Can’t miss you. Big fucking lollipop. You’re an old man. What are you doing? Why are you doing this? How do you apply for the job? 

Laughing away, laugh laugh laugh. You must be so funny, you old man. The children know you, the parents know you. An extension of the family. Oh, who is all coming round for dinner? Well, Aunty Jenny, Granny Peggy, your cousin Stephen and, of course, the old lollipop man from down the street. 

Oh, you see me now, no children in sight. No children insight because I am a man without a child. A Man on his way to Morrisons. A man who knows how to cross the…you fucking cunt!!! He’s gone and stuck his fucking lollipop down.

“Cheers, buddy”. 

Oh, thank you very much. He must know my smile was accidental; I do not appreciate you, Mr Lollipop man. I would have been stood there for days if it wasn’t for you, Mr Lollipop man. Blankly staring from left to right in a panic, a pedestrian hypochondriac. Oh me? I am seven years old; this beard is fake. On my way back, you better not move, old man. 

Another stolen carrier bag, a successful day. Big ole bottle of whiskey poking out. Chicken, Skyr, and Whiskey. An adult shop, if you ask me. Paid for it with my debit card as well; children do not have debit cards. Or do they? They probably fucking do now, Jesus Christ. A group of children is worth about four grand alone plus any yano emotional value they apparently have. Better phone than me, wee cunts. Pound signs jumping up and down, rushing and pushing, pushing and pushing. They laugh a lot, and I’m jealous. One of these wee boys must be exceptionally funny because they can’t stop………oh. It is him. There he fucking is. I forgot. The reason I have been walking so aggressively, the reason why I snarled at that woman at the self-check out- the Lollipop Man. Everyone’s favourite ‘no matter what surely a paedo’ Lollipop Man. Don’t even look at him, John; if you do not look, then he must assume you are deadly focussed on the road. He will know you are confident with crossing the road. One look at you, and he will know you’re a man. Not only that, but he will surely recognise your face. He will remember that you live nearby presumably and must know these roads well. Shit, what if he thinks, “Aw, there is that big cunt I help cross the road.” NO, NO, Mr Lollipop Man, because what about weekends! I cross the road all by myself when you’re off doing whatever the fuck a character like you does on his day off. You’re probably too busy doing dancing on your day off playing about with your silly lollipop…you stupid idiot! Jesus John, right here he comes. 

It is 9:50 in the morning. The parents are gone, no traffic. In fact, Mr Lollipop man, did you know that I could be a parent? That’s right, I, a grown man, could very well be frequently helping my little son or daughter cross the road. Not only do I cross the road, but I help my seed cross the street. Now I know you will help more children across the road, but it is undoubtedly harder to help your own children? You can be objective easily, not second-guessing whether the car indicated because what do you care? These wee cunts aren’t yours; if they die, the driver will get in bother plus your child mortality rate will still be incredibly low. You can afford to lose a few; I cannot. If my child gets hit by a car after my invitation to walk, then I’ll end up getting divorced. The wife that I have will leave me. She will use it as the excuse she has been waiting for all these years. And then what? Do I see them at the weekends? Naw, because I will have killed one of them! One, if not, two of those children that I have. 

“Cheers, Buddy…NO! what did you do that for!”. The Lollipop man smiles in disbelief. 

“Give me that, you fucking creep.” John snatches his lollipop and proceeds to walk back and forth across the street. 

“Look, Dad, I am doing it, I am doing it! Easy work pal, easy work.” 

Aw shit, how do I stop this? 

John drops the stick and walks hastily towards his flat. 

“I do it all the time. I’ll have you know!” he yells from a distance.

John shut the fuck up. What is wrong with you? Do not turn round again. This is it. This is the last time you walk to Morrisons that way. You’ve fucked it now. That’ll teach him, though, right? Well, in man. He probably thinks you’ll batter him next time, fuck it, maybe you will! Batter that stupid old man next time, do it for us. One less arrogant Dictator, Lollipop man, you’ll be doing mankind a favour. 

Cheers