Drag Me to Hell eh?

The old guy walked in, he looked a bit scruffy, and had a couple of papers in his hand. He said he wanted 40 copies of what appeared to his poems, so he could take them to the publishers. At first I tried fobbing him off to the other side of the hall, but he said he'd already tried that side, and they turned him down, and he mentioned that he also tried the printers downstairs, but they were too busy with their printing jobs.

Which wasn't surprising, they probably took one look at the guy and thought what a bum he was. I have to admit I did. There he was, greying hair, wrinkled, missing a couple of teeth, but there was something pathetically earnest about the way he asked. He seemed to read my thoughts - sense my doubts, and offered to return with a ream to replenish our supplies.

Bet you're wondering what's so freaking scary about some random off the streets? He's just a creepy old man, after all. It all started at the cinemas. It was my first night out at the cinemas at night, with Vay. We ended up watching Drag Me to Hell. It was dark, and everyone was caught up watching the movie, until one scene scared the shit out of me, and I ended up screaming. I couldn't help myself, it caught me by surprise, damn it.

Present day, and here I was, faced with a fateful decision, and I was having flashbacks of a scene in the movie, where old Mrs Ganesh begs Christine Brown for an extension of her home loan, but puts a terrifying curse on her when Christine flatly refuses. Did I want to be Christine and have the wrath of an old gypsy on me?

Homer: Well, everything ended fine.
Marge: No, it didn't. Bart's dead.
Homer: Saying I'm sorry won't bring him back.
Marge: The gypsy said it would.
Homer: Pff. She's not the boss of me.

Well you don't want to end up like Christine do you? Do you? I had to think about it. The guy stood there, like a beggar asking for a dollar. Ugh, why couldn't I just say no and be done with it? Oh right, the curse thing.

Christine Brown: Another extension is out of the question.
Mrs. Ganush: Where will I live?
Christine Brown: I'm sorry.
Mrs. Ganush: Never have I begged for anything, but now I humble myself before you.
Christine Brown: Mrs. Ganush, please...
Mrs. Ganush: I beg you.

Finally something inside me made me relent - dear god, is that a conscience that you have Linhy? - maybe it was the fact he only wanted photocopies of his poems and didn't have money to get them done elsewhere. So I made him the copies, and he left. I felt pret-ty satisfied knowing not only was I a good Samaritan, but also that I probably foiled any chance of the guy wanting to use his curses on me. Take that, Mrs Ganesh. Let's see you drag me to hell now.

I was feeling rather satisfied with myself. God I'm good, I was thinking, until I saw the guy at Central Station, just standing there handing out the photocopies I so generously made for him, to any schmuck who wanted to read them! What the fuck? So any random passerby was this guy's "publisher "were they? UGH. That's the last time I'm helping anyone who comes strolling in asking for a handout. And I'll be damned if I do! Oh wait, scratch that.