the pirates of the mediterranean...

Went to do a little marketing at a colossal sized supermarket in a really out of the place, or youloo as me would tell my girlfriend in manchester, suburb, just to walk the supermarket aisles to get a little fresh air, or supermarket air rather in this case.

In any case, apparently, there was to be some big match off with god knows what country, that even the highways were saturated with pirate cars, producing the same boisterous raucous. There was even a food delivery container truck, no, not kidding about the container truck because it had some picture of a ham on it, that joined in the deafening riot. Mind you, those truck have honks of a bloody fork horn that can be heard miles away with your ears closed, so much for trying to escape from the symphony of the horns and have a little peace and quiet.

If you have read of the honky tonk cacophony caused by these bandits, trust me, you ain’t hear nothing yet.

On my way back into town, you could practically hear yelling and screaming in the streets, as if someone or many someones in this case, was shouting bloody murder. Then as my feet took a corner, pandemonium broke out on the streets. No prizes for guessing who won.

It started out pretty usual at first, the cheering and honking. Only difference was that you practically hear the entire street, very literally from one end to the other, all cheering. It was pretty much like a series of miniature stadiums having the same game going on simultaneously. A few footsteps later, there was a thunderous bang behind me. For a moment, really thought it was a gunshot gone wrong a street down and wondered if a riot was going to break out because police cars are, almost, always actually stationed around.

Before one can even gather back one’s scattered wits and thoughts, an entire concerto of cannon blasts blew up in the background in a much harmonized canon, literally. It was like the fourth of july happening, although the only problem was that it is too early for a celebration of Independence day, and there were no dazzling firework displays to compensate for the crazy din. Raving lunatics were either jumping about doing the rain dance, or running in and out alternately in their balconies. Explains why it has been pouring like cats and dogs although it is supposedly presumed to be spring on the calendar. They have been dancing a little too much, and too hard. In short, balconies were like miniature rings of circus acts.

No thanks to them, the trusty old migraine decided to pay its customary visit. Tried to sleep it off, but that did not quite work out considering the earsplitting, brain exploding racket came in waves like a tsunami on vengeance at the Miami coasts. Given, the behaviour is somewhat patriotic and ought to be an admired quality; nonetheless, a few decibels less in consideration for the other people who live on the same street really would not hurt; and you wonder why this dodo does not like soccer. Being stuck and steeped in a place of football culture where the passion for it, literally, rages has not influenced me, what so ever, to learn to like it, let alone love it. If anything, it has only cultivated an increasing linear graph of dread.

Wherever my feet take me, all my eyes see, are bandits on the roads, and danger on the streets. Sneaky thieves who rob the town of all its tranquility.

Woe is me, for being at a place where the pirates of the Mediterranean are all abound.