For Want Of An Umbrella
Those clenched fists tell you all you need to know: yes, I'd captured a shot just as the man in the suit – damp from the rain and surrounded by people more suitably-attired to the conditions – remembered that his bag contained an all-weather sombrero for just this sort of occasion.
He mouthed the word "damn!" as his hand struggled to release the protective headgear and I snorted with laughter.
"All-weather sombrero?" I asked, innocently.
"Yeah," he mumbled, getting wetter as the rain picked up in strength and the hat finally emerged from its carrier.
"Dumbass!" I said, with a smile. Sadly, he didn't quite see the humour in the situation, growled, and moved towards me with a string of profanities about to roll off his tongue.
Fortunately for everyone involved – mainly me, and not him to be brutally honest – an old dear chose that moment to wander between us. One lowered, exposed spoke on the umbrella she had remembered to bring neatly plucked out his left eyeball and all thoughts of swearing or sheltering vanished in a heartbeat (that heartbeat being accompanied by quite a scream, as you can imagine).
The man in the suit spent the remainder of my lunch break hunting for his errant eye – a task not aided by his newly-acquired lack of depth perception – before I laughingly let him know it had fallen into the crown of his still-clutched sombrero and he'd had it on him all along.
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