The Block: Part Thirteen

This is the thirteenth part of a fiction serial, in 801 words.

One day I held the main door open for a bloke struggling in with pots of paint and a small step-ladder. As the door closed behind him, he launched into an uninvited monologue. Seems he had rented Possible’s old flat, and was having to do lots of work inside to make it bearable to live in. I wasn’t surprised to hear that Possible had probably never done so much as one day of cleaning since he lived there, and had never bothered to decorate past the original builder’s finish. But it was difficult to concentrate on what this guy was saying, because he had very unusual eyes.

To say they were bulging eyes doesn’t even begin to describe just how bulgy they were. Bigger than ping-pong balls, they rolled around in the sockets as if he had no control over them whatsoever. Even as I presumed he was looking at me whilst speaking, the eyes seemed to decide where they wanted to look instead, and operated independently of each other too. When one was glancing at the ceiling, the other was gazing idly in the general direction of the lift. I could see the red veins on the whites of them, and his pupils were a sickly washed our brown colour, like when you rinse out a bowl that has had chocolate ice cream in it.

He was unable to string a sentence together without using an ‘F’. ‘F-ing paint’, ‘F-ing previous tenant’, and so on. I was wondering if the removal of swear words would render him almost mute, but found myself distracted by a spider-web tattoo that went from under his right ear, across most of that side of his neck. At least it was a diversion from being fixated on his eyes. But his foul breath snapped me back in the moment. Even at the distance of four feet and increasing as I backed away, his horrible wet mouth was giving off a smell that was hard to identify. Something like stale tobacco mixed with aniseed, and not in a good way, I assure you. If there is even a good way for that.

I really wanted this awful person to just vacate my space, so when the lift arrived, I told him to take it, and walked up all the stairs to my flat.

It will come as no surprise if I tell you that the new guy was immediately christened ‘Bulgy Eyes’.

It was quite a few weeks before Turkish Bloke’s flat got a new tenant. Disappointingly, it was another couple who seemed to be more than a little Turkish, but this time they had no kids. I decided to call them The Ayslum Seekers, as they were as quiet as mice, and looked shit-scared all the time. When I eventually found out they were from Afghanistan, I was a little surprised, but not too much. The woman was attractive, and dressed in modest western clothes. But her husband fitted the bill, as he looked much like I had imagined a 30 year-old Mujahideen to be.

Once the two flats were occupied, Teacher Lady swapped spaces in the car park, for the sporty hatchback. The Asylum Seekers had no car, but Bulgy Eyes did. He had blocked off his space with the old Peugeot 206 he ran around in, forcing Middle Aged Biker Man to hurry down to move his wife’s car, shifting it to Turkish Bloke’s old space. It was looking like musical chairs that night in the car park, and I couldn’t help but wonder when the next parking explosion would ignite.

But the rest of the year was pretty quiet. The only thing of note was that I found out what Frizzy-Haired Sexy Girl did for a living. We walked into the block together one evening, and I decided to just ask her, in a chatty way. “Oh, by the way I never did ask. What job do you do? Tell me it’s not my business if you want”. I was going to ask her name too, but decided to wait until she told me it.

She never did tell me it.

However, she did tell me that she was a croupier, at a private Casino in Mayfair. She produced a card from her bag, and told me to flash it if I ever wanted to visit her Casino and not have to join as a member. Like I had the money to piss away on Roulette, or whatever. There was no indication that she wanted me to go there for any other reason. I thanked her anyway.

On the thirty-first of December, I stood on the balcony wrapped up in a parka, and watched the fireworks at midnight, warmed up inside by some Remy Martin VSOP.

I was so bored. Next year had to be better, surely?

33 thoughts on “The Block: Part Thirteen

  1. This seems very calm before the storm, I have a feeling todays episode will be full of excitement, a reveal about Jeff perhaps? πŸ™‚
    I knew a bulgy eyed bloke, but that’s where the similarities ended, thankfully πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I knew a guy at work with eyes just like that. It was caused by a rare medical condition. He wasn’t anything like the rest of Bulgy Eyes though, and was a nice guy just really worried about his eye problem. Despite that, his eyes made me feel ill.
      Reveal about Jeff? He’s telling the story, so already ‘revealed’. πŸ™‚
      It’s only Part 14 mate! There’s no revealing about anyone, right until the end.
      Are you sitting on a theory, perhaps?
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. You painted quite the picture with Bulgy Eyes. I know a guy just like him who rarely can get through a sentence without using some version of the “F” word. The remarkable thing is he manages to change it into just about every part of speech.🀣

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I have always called it ‘Swear-Speak’. They just cannot talk without swearing, and have no idea about when it is not acceptable. I met literally hundreds of people like that in London, and a few in Norfolk too. It has almost become a language in its own right.
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. (1) Bulgy Eyes seems abby normal to me. Since you’re weaving a tangled web of violence, will this story include eye gore?
    (2) Overheard at the metro station:
    Jeff: “I know a rather brilliant surgeon. Perhaps he can help you with that hump.”
    Bulgy Eyes: “What hump?”
    (3) Bulgy Eyes can’t keep a girlfriend because he’s got a roving eye. His last girlfriend was a couch potato who watched nothing but Popeye cartoons.
    (4) Professor Delbruck failed to notice that his zombie “pupils were a sickly washed out brown colour.” And they failed to notice that their reanimated professor was deathly pale.
    (5) Bulgy Eyes “was unable to string a sentence together without using an β€˜F’.”
    For example: “I’m fond of frightening flicks that feature Frankenstein, but, first and foremost, I favor funny foreign films.”
    (6) Frizzy-Haired Sexy Girl has a boyfriend named One-Eyed Jack. But if Jeff plays his cards right, he might get a chance to gambol in bed with her.
    (7) At midnight on New Year’s Eve, the Asylum Seekers sat on the balcony, wrapped up in a warm afghan. “Fireworks are starting! Fetch me some Ruskova vodka, ASAP!”

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Bulgy Eyes was first known as a blokeβ€”some people confused him with Fat Bald Bloke. Fat Bald Bloke was more desirable with the ladies because Bulgy Eyes had wandering eyeballs.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. A patsy? That’s interesting. I recall Lee Harvey Oswald claiming “I’m just the patsy”. We don’t use the term here, so I presume it means ‘scapegoat’?
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes. I looked it up and it probably originates from a vaudevillian character –a male– in the late 19th century named Patsy. “Patsy” got blamed for everything that went wrong and that was the running gag.

        Liked by 1 person

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