An expedition to the post office

Yesterday afternoon I had a surprise invitation from two of my new friends. It caught me rather by surprise, but I was a big brave boy and took them up on their offer. My friends have a high incidence of asd/aspergers in their family, which common thread originally bound us in friendship. I was originally curious about meeting the kids, as I had never knowingly met a young person with the condition. I expected it to be strange for them, too, to meet someone quite as ancient as myself, since people of my age generally go undiagnosed. It was a lovely meeting. We all felt quite at ease together. People who don't know me usually find my humour strange, or don't understand it at all. The kids got it first time, and we laughed about such games as autistic snap, and about harpoon guns. There was so much talking and laughter. Then I was treated to a lovely dinner before my friends and I popped down to the pub. I could write pages about the lovely time I had, but will resist the urge on this occasion.
It was nice at the pub too. A couple of my favourite regulars were there, as well as two of my family circle.
We had a couple of enjoyable games of scrabble. There was a lady who was with one of the regulars, and she was in a very convivial mood on account of the beer that she had been enjoying. She started talking to me about music, which I answered, then she started talking about the church. That is fine, but I explained that I wasn't interested in the church. The woman brought the subject up three times in rapid succession, so I'm afraid the got the rough end of my tongue. If someone talks to you, they might at least try listening to what you have said.
I didn't sleep very well last night, and feel a bit tired and achy. I've just been to the post office, and the queue there reminded me of the above picture (Wentworth St, Whitechapel (1872) by Gustave Dore). They were a motley bunch, and really looked quite pitiful. There was a sense of hopelessness about them. However my sympathy soon ran out when I noticed the lengthy conversations people were having at the counter. They weren't even talking about post office business. They were just as bad as the lottery wankers in the supermarket. For all I know they may even be the same people. I can imagine them spending their entire day queuing up for things, but not wanting to leave the counter afterwards. Ain't it sad.