This late afternoon I left the hotel and went for a stroll round China Town. As wonderfully chaotic as it always is.
However, on my way back to the hotel, I happened to glance down at the pavement, as you do, and just in time spotted a bolt, of roughly an eighth of an inch in diameter, sticking out of the concrete by about half an inch, pointy end up. Why was it there? What could it be for? Was I walking on top of a tunnel and said sticky-up pointy bolty was an over-long fitting for a ceiling light in the tunnel below? Had I been out in the sun too long?
Whatever it's for or from, the concrete all around the sticky, pointy thingy was stained, not too surprisingly, a dark reddish brown which conjures up images of the countless flip-flop fitted feet that must have found this little rascal and brought forth foul language and cries of, 'Gosh, that's sore. Wish I'd been looking down.' Or, 'Wish I'd been on the boltless side of the street.' Or, 'Wish I'd taken the tunnel.'
Did I go back later with a set of mole grips and turn him out to make that area flip-flop footed friendly? Of course not. Think it through. What if I had, and a light fitting had fallen on someone in the tunnel?
Quote; John Steinbeck.
"Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping."
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