Some wisdom, a conspiracy theory, and a plan from Jimmy the Drunk.
“Mark my words. There is more evil done by men wearing suits than men in balaclavas.”
“Don’t be pedantic. For one, it makes out to be a twunt. Don’t be a twunt. My grammar used to be corrected all the time. I know how to talk right. I just didn’t want to sound like those pedantic twunts. Remember that.” He added a nod to ensure that titbit of knowledge stayed with me.”
“It’s getting to be like gridlock.” He motioned towards the coughing and rumbling traffic.
“Maybe it’s the council blocking the traffic on purpose as propaganda for the new tram.” I replied as a feeble joke.
“Aye. I bet your right. Good for them. Pissing cars.” His empty beer clicked off the roof of a car on the opposite side of the road. The driver looked around confused. I hadn’t even seen him throw it, but I recognized the meaning in his grin.
“I know how I’m gonna make money.”
“I gonna to open up a dojo.”
“A karate dojo?”
“Aye. It’ll be brilliant. I am going to call it, ‘Murder Karate’. I’ll put it one of those closed down sandwich shops across from the estate.” He points at the sad yellow concrete building looking over the row of Georgian flats.
“Murder Karate?” I say with an unconvinced chuckle, and in response he leaps up and makes a series of awkward punches until drops his cigarette.
“Balls.” After a refreshing drag, he continues his explanation now excited as the plan formulates in his mind. “I’ll get some Portugesey guy to teach it. Tell people he’s a Brazilian. He’ll shout a lot. All those little tracksuits monkeys will be beating down the door to learn Murder Karate.” An immediate reply to the proposal of murder karate was not forthwith but luckily I was saved by the number 22 bus pulling to the stop.
“Good luck with that.” I smile. We shake hands good-bye. He gives me a thumbs up and a wink as the bus pulls away.