Style No. 15: Another Subjectivity

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Style No. 15: Another Subjectivity

Because it’s always worth hearing the other side of things, apparently.

Another Subjectivity

I must’ve been the only one not wearing orange in that damn town. Looked like the gods had spilled a jar of mango jam right down the mountainside. Thought my eyes might pop out at the sight of it all. I’ve never liked orange; it’s an ostentatious colour.

I might’ve liked to stay in, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not with what was hidden under my shawl. There was no turning back.

You can imagine I was nervous. Sweating like a 40-tear-old in labour. To top it off, right as I went by these two little squirts start blowing their whistle like it’s the last one on earth. I suppose childhood friendships ought to seem cute: youths going arm in arm and all that. Maybe when it’s not so noisy.

I pass them by. I’ve almost made it to the safety of the crowd.

But it’s time to quicken my pace. There’s a furrow-browed cretin only three steps back, and it looks like he knows something.

Some say Cambridge is a lovely place to study. If you’re a townie, you might fancy it a nice place to be a garbage man, or an electrician (having met a garbage man and electrician from Cambridge, I can attest to it). And if you’re visiting from out of the country, you might wish simply to sip sherry at the King’s College dining hall and wait for your sticky toffee pudding to arrive. Clicked this in January 2011, Cambridge (England).

Thank you so much for reading, you are too kind. No, really, I assure you the pleasure has been all mine, what.

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