Then the Tempo whammed into the car. Then the bus
hit the Tempo.
No one died though. Well, a dog did.
But that doesn't count.
Oh, a dumpster skidded on the broken glass and
collided with the divider
half an hour later.
I was there, he says, gnawing off the head of a fried fish
with his front teeth.
He had helped them
take out the bodies.
Seen a real live amputated leg
for the first time in his life,
He smiles impatiently as he tells me.
They serve good fish curry and rice here,
in this vermin infested, scavenger prone shithole
of a chai shop.
I often end up here in the evenings because there is
nothing else to do.
And their samosa paav is an commendable effort.
And it is right across the road from my favourite bar.
And because my only worry when I end up here
is how to balance the scalding teacup in one hand
and the cigarette in the other without burning myself
with either object.
I guess, there is no good fish or bad fish.
There is just, fish.
Unless you want to eat it.
Or it wants to eat you.
Wonder if they've moved the dead dog off the road yet.