St Kilda Stories--The Headache Catastrophe

The other day, I was walking down the steps of my place, bracing myself for another icy morning ride to work when I heard a guy screaming: "Heeeelp me... Somebody heeeelp me... Pleeeease".

Screaming and yelling on Robe St is not uncommon... the customary fight between prostitute and pimp about the night's takings, boozed Irish backpackers having a domestic, and Mr Schizo (as I've called him) who paces up and down Robe St arguing with himself at the top of his voice are all part of the daily soundscape. But this guy's cry sounded more urgent than the usual clamour.

So I raced down the steps with visions of bullet wounds and pools of blood, trying to remember the CPR training I did two years ago (I recall something about Dr ABC and Baa Baa Black Sheep... or maybe that was something I learned in primary school... should of paid more attention rather than pretending to pash the dummy). Anyway, I jumped the gate--all superhero--and found an old guy in a brown suit and slippers shuffling slowly along the footpath.

Brown Suit Man: Heeelp me.... I need heeelp

Me: What's wrong

Brown Suit Man: Can you heeelp me... I neeeeed heeelp (screaming gets more piercing)

Me: Ok ok... what's the matter

Brown Suit Man: I've got a headache

(pause)

Me: Umm ok... where do you live?

Brown Suit Man: 35 Robe St (a couple of doors down)

Me: Why don't you go home and have a rest?

Brown Suit Man: Ok good idea (smiles and spins around and starts shuffling back the other way)

Comments

richard said…
You were always so helpful to those in need.
Lee Kindler said…
Left out the bit where I stole his wallet