This Girl

Haig walkway betw Blocks 11 & 9 was the patch of the four-eyes girl. The girl’s mentor, Auntie Helen in the front room at Carpmael, always brought up both hands to her eyes for the ID. This girl, Helen will say, making forefinger-and-thumb circles over both eyes. When Auntie Helen was delayed by her paid employment, the occasional JW gathering, or more occasional holiday, this girl was called upon to feed Auntie’s menagerie, both the privileged inside her room, and the outdoor. Auntie cooked organic chicken bought from the Haig butcher for her mogs, infinitely more nutritious than the supermarket fare (with less need of vets, cheaper in the long run too). Auntie had various coloured plastic containers for the Carpmael garden corner and others for behind the block on Onan. Without the financial resources of Helen, this girl neither buys organic, nor troubles with plastic containers. But then neither does this girl place her food on the pavement or the grass on her section of Blocks. This morning again a clean cardboard square holding the dry pieces against a pillar on the walkway. Ah, yes! Tell-tale sign of this girl! Twenty-eight and almost certainly never been kissed. In earlier years her mother had been a feeder too. Dad had now forbidden a house cat, not even a single one allowed indoors. (In lieu of a line-up and examination, the remainder would be guesswork. Strongest relevant evidence the Haig Estate itself: the towers with their shutters and grilles, stainless elevators, walkways & garden-beds maintained by the foreign work-crews. Little attention has been given to the effects of hard, adamantine surfaces in a living environment, and SG presents a useful case study.) This girl picks up casual IT work, invariably dull and dreary, she complains. The plastic-coated bright coloured sign at the rear of one of the shops in Block 2 requesting people not feed the two cats on that patch because of their kidney disease, likewise the work of this girl. Wangling. Helen had once slipped with her name...Calling an unassuming Clark Kent shipping clerk, let’s say, cook or mechanic, with an old grannie that he visits at the Haig. Look lad, how much care and affection showers down on those pretty felines. Bring a biscuit box one night and stake ou the garbage chutes round 8. No need much chat, don’t worry.