Six Unknown Yet Influential Artists of the 1960s

THE WAITRESS
The waitress was quite happy waiting away and softly tra-la-laing 'Milord' to herself. Until she happened to notice the table over against the wall.
"Well this IS a bloody nice picture, isn't it?!" she screamed. "D'you have to make a mess like this? You bloody foreigners are all the same. A bunch of bloody misfits. Why don't you eat the food, instead of slopping it all over the table? I'm the one who has to clear it all up y'know!
Spoerri hurriedly paid his bill and scuttled out. The other customers didn't blame him for running. They just kept their heads down and quietly continued their meals. No one had ever been known to stand up to one of the waitress's famous tirades.

THE MAN WHO DISGUSTED PEOPLE
There was a terrible smell as Manzoni, who'd been kicking a tin can in a straight line along the gutter, passed a man leaning with one hand against a white wall in the via Pisoni on a pleasant May afternoon. Manzoni walked on and looked back and the man was stamping his foot on the pavement.
It wasn't until Manzoni reached his destination that he realised the meaning of the egg yellow slime which had been draining out of the man's trouser bottoms and onto his shoes.
This man very often shocked and disgusted people as he wandered around the city. He made them stop and think.

THE CAT-FEEDER
Whenever Poons left the city for any length of time, he gave his key to a certain young girl so that she could come in every other day to feed his cats (well nearly every other day - she had strong inclinations to the erratic and the irregular.
This girl always wore polka dot trousers. It made your eyes ache to look at them. She wore a different pair each and every other day and had the biggest and best collection in the Village.
She was also an extremely good guitar-picker in the country-and-western style; and this without any formal musical training whatsoever.

THE BALD-HEADED DOG-WALKER
Long gradually began to notice the bald man of regular habits. Twice every day, at 12.05pm and 4pm, an Old English Sheepdog (who adored his master with respect and an understanding of his deeper, more hidden qualities) took the man and his bicycle for a walk round the field.
Then the man would throw stones for his pet to run for and retrieve, and then they'd both disappear without trace.

THE DOWN-AND-OUT
The down-and-out stood on the corner of Glenarm and 15th.
De Andrea just stared at her and at her skin. "Beautiful!" he whispered to himself, frightened and repulsed. He could swear to Christ that she wasn't breathing.
She had never been seen actually moving. Only standing absolutely still in her grey coat and bundles, neither going nor coming. But she must have moved sometimes, because she didn't stand there annoying the Shasta all the time.
In this way she was something of a mystery. She only wanted peace and quiet.

THE IRISH NEXT-DOOR-NEIGHBOUR
From the kitchen window, Oppenheim watched his Irish next-door-neighbour cutting his toenails.
All the necessary implements were there: scissors, emery board, pumice stone, etc. He'd taken his shirt off and put his glasses on.
He cut the nails most carefully, with his foot up on an old grey chair. After thirty minutes on his left foot (with its awkwardly deformed nail) he stopped when a splinter from the chair became embedded in his big toe.
Slowly pulling the splinter out, he wondered whether or not to feel any pain. With his finger he popped and spread the blob of blood that had appeared, almost proud that this splinter was bigger and better than the last one.