It happened last week. Two of my friends and I were coming back from the beach. One friend and myself fell a bit behind and walked through a park as we headed home. An old guy who sat on a bench greeted us warmly:
"Good day, guys."
"Good day", we said politely.
The man got up and approached us. He was at least 70 years old, with a belly bigger than Anna Nicole-Smith's breasts and smelling like a distillery. He smiled, offered us his hand, and we reluctantly shook it.
"Where are you guys from?", he inquired.
"I'm from Zagreb, he's from Kutina", I responded.
"Is everything alright in Zagreb?"
"Yeah, everything's alright."
"What of the girls?"
Now, normally I don't waste my time chatting with every bum that approaches me on the street, but I was in good mood and this guy was friendly.
A little *too* friendly.
"Oh, they're either at the seaside or locked in their apartments", I relate.
A bit of explanation is in order - as I had just been swimming, I was wearing nothing but my boxer shorts and a towel draped across my shoulders. And now this crazy guy took another step towards me (he was close enough for me to distinctly smell the putrid odor emanating from his mouth), pushed his hand *under* my towel and began to gently stroke my right side. Whoa there, gramps!
I took a step back.
"Where are you staying?", he asked.
"Oh, uh, up there", I said, pointing in the general direction of our house. I turned around and noticed that my friend - the no-good traitor - was leaving expeditiously. I was about to join him, but gramps had other plans. He took another step forwards (we were now standing belly to belly, his belly dwarfing mine) and began stroking my side again.
"You guys are great fuckers, aren't you?", he asked, grinning (I'll be damned if he had more than three teeth).
Fuck you, gramps.
"Yeah, we are. Bye."
Having said that, I turned tail and got the fuck away from him.
A friendly piece of advice - if you are ever in Dalmatia, watch your cornhole.
"Good day, guys."
"Good day", we said politely.
The man got up and approached us. He was at least 70 years old, with a belly bigger than Anna Nicole-Smith's breasts and smelling like a distillery. He smiled, offered us his hand, and we reluctantly shook it.
"Where are you guys from?", he inquired.
"I'm from Zagreb, he's from Kutina", I responded.
"Is everything alright in Zagreb?"
"Yeah, everything's alright."
"What of the girls?"
Now, normally I don't waste my time chatting with every bum that approaches me on the street, but I was in good mood and this guy was friendly.
A little *too* friendly.
"Oh, they're either at the seaside or locked in their apartments", I relate.
A bit of explanation is in order - as I had just been swimming, I was wearing nothing but my boxer shorts and a towel draped across my shoulders. And now this crazy guy took another step towards me (he was close enough for me to distinctly smell the putrid odor emanating from his mouth), pushed his hand *under* my towel and began to gently stroke my right side. Whoa there, gramps!
I took a step back.
"Where are you staying?", he asked.
"Oh, uh, up there", I said, pointing in the general direction of our house. I turned around and noticed that my friend - the no-good traitor - was leaving expeditiously. I was about to join him, but gramps had other plans. He took another step forwards (we were now standing belly to belly, his belly dwarfing mine) and began stroking my side again.
"You guys are great fuckers, aren't you?", he asked, grinning (I'll be damned if he had more than three teeth).
Fuck you, gramps.
"Yeah, we are. Bye."
Having said that, I turned tail and got the fuck away from him.
A friendly piece of advice - if you are ever in Dalmatia, watch your cornhole.
I *was* wearing swimming shorts. Lapsus calami.