Water down the shoes

I glanced at the cheap laser printed map I held in my hand and figured my bearings. 'Just cross the road, and walk perpendicular to the road; its the next main street', I thought to myself. No problem at all. So I waited for the lights to turn green in favour of me, and in seconds I was across.

So I started walking along the interconnecting road. Next thing I knew I felt my feet getting damp. I looked to the side, and realised that it was caused by a bloody repair van wanting to park right next to me. It also meant that part of a puddle was water was displaced onto my leg and down into my socks and shoes.

I shot an annoyed look at the culprits. The window was down, and the man in the passenger seat - he looked scruffy and dirty - looked at me. 'What the fuck do you want? It was a fucking accident'. With that attitude, no wonder he's never made it - and will never make it.

Looking at how quickly he was looking out of the window and turning to the back to face me, and the fact that he was quick to rattle off his rude comment, it was apparent that the bastards did mean to splash water on me. Luckily for them, it did not hit my shirt, otherwise I would have been extremely livid and would have given them a piece of my mind. But I was in a hurry - so I gave them a long, hard, stony glare as I moved on, the bastards.