The Hand of God

The Perils and Joys of being a Pedestrian in Auckland

It’s almost frowned upon to use ones legs in Auckland to get from a to b.

Menacing socialites barely able to see over a steering wheel drive with their

foot to the floor rushing to pick up their trim milk late while the peasants of the

path graciously hobble along forgotten. We who march upon the ash felt deem

ourselves lucky beyond all measure if we have the good fortune to even tread

upon a footpath. Many times I have witnessed tradies in their working vans

glued to a standstill at a busy traffic intersections. On my two feet like Achilles 

merciless I outstrip them galloping around the corner. It’s sad to realize how

our main roads, back streets, byways, dead end streets you name it are

peopled with less and less honest walkers. Ironically one does tend to see

a rise in exercising lunatics clad in leather jogging pants doing their very best to

suck in as many exhaust fumes as humanely possible. It almost makes me

sad as I think about their pristine athletic lungs slowly being riddled with carbon

monoxide and pollution.

Despite the gloom, something funny happened yesterday as I was trooping down

the road to a Socialist meeting on the edge of Morningside. While I was minding

my own business a heavy set leering woman of pakeha descent leaned out of

her passenger window and said hi. I said hi back while keeping a steady pace

toward my destination while feeling rather hungry. She asked me abruptly

“do you want some tits!”. I was rather surprised and taken aback then quickly  

realized this woman was trying to level me for which I pitied her. Politely I

declined her insincere and venomous offer as I being no fool saw that her

boyfriend or pimp was driving her about and didn’t want a part in any tomfoolery

. I then said to the woman in a low tone “I’m good thanks”.

She countered my genuine rejection of her advance by stating that the current

standing market rate to enjoy the sight of her bumbling breasts was a pittance

at “30 dollars” although she made her sum sound like a vast aristocratic fortune.

I dis-regard her quote entirely as I had absolutely no interest in playing into her

poisoned hand.

The next thing I know the woman’s four wheeled slug of a car zoomed off into

the sunset leaving me in peace. I silently hoped the cars smoky exhaust

propelled it’s occupants as far from me as humanely possible.

 It’s true that the undisputed kings of inner city transportation are cars.

This fact doesn’t stop me from laughing, howling even when I hear cheesy

generic car horns sing out with rage and anger, as if they owned the roads out

right. Like little lords and lasses with their hereditary authority unchecked

cars speed down the pot-holed roads with flagrant dis-regard for the safety of

young children walking home from school. Currently pedestrian’s maybe

overpowered by the might of the combustion engine. But sooner or later the

change will come and the smirk on their smug drivers faces will be lost for

good. The tables will do more than turn they will 360 flip. Then with the wink of

an eye the champions of society the glorious driver will become powerless

and unhinged as computers and algorithms direct humanities future movements

and the best route to ones desired destination. I would gladly pay far more than

$30 to strip despotic wayward drivers and their despicable passengers of the

cruel pride only afforded to them by the power that comes with having the

ability to direct the four wheels of a car.