not seeing straight

By jaybroek

The taunts are everywhere...

On Sunday...

after the repair bloke had shook his head and cast me into the abyss without even getting off his motorbike, I started walking back down the road with the vague aim of walking back to Pitlochry.

A few minutes after the person who was plum last had stopped for a brief natter - presumably to make themselves feel better - the sag wagon rolled to a stop. The driver stepped down and, on reflection quite gently and considerately, asked me if that was me done for the day.

I wasn't even in a place to spew out vitriolic sarcasm at this point (Look at the clues mister...look at the clues). I may have just nodded dumbly.

He then removed my timing chip - formally eradicating me from the race - and I nearly cried. My symbolic castration.

But I still have my number.... I still have my numb...

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