The Slopman

We had an unusual visitor to our street a few times a week. None of the neighbours knew his name, but everyone called him the Slopman, as he’d collect slop for his pigs from the residents.
He was a big muscular man and rode a small bicycle with his slop bucket hanging from the handlebars. He always wore a blueish-grey shop coat and black Wellington boots. Because of his size his knees would almost stick out at right angles to the bike. He had oily, black hair and a big, manly face, which was red and purple in colour.
Mister Slopman constantly swore and cursed, as he cycled along. His cursing curses are unprintable, but it was an education in bad language for any six year old. When he’d arrive on the street the mothers used run out of their houses and collect their siblings and take them home, so they could not be contaminated by the foul language that was spilling out of his mouth. It seemed to me that he was fighting with himself for some unknown reason, or maybe he got angry and agitated when he visited our street, because many of the families had no waste food to give him. ©