Casting pearls of despair

I had to change twenty quid, to give a tenner to Lujek, a fellow rider. We went to that pizza/fast food place by the corner of Old Compton Street and Charring Cross Road. I got in, to get the change and he stayed outside with our tricycles. As I stepped out to share the dosh with him, we heard somebody screaming. Then we saw two decent looking fellows approaching us. One of them, a smartly dressed gent around thirty years old, kept throwing himself against walls and shop windows, yelling: "AAAARRRGH!!!", like a mad thing! The other chap tried to get hold of him, the first one however managed to break free and carried on with his peculiar activity. The geezer wasn't actually angry or blind drunk. I reckoned he just fancied a bit of AAAAAAARRRGHing to, simply, express himself and perhaps to escape for a little while the annoying shackles put on us by the modern society. The best option for him would be, certainly, to put on some animal skin, to dance by the fire for a little while. The primordial, desperate "AAAAAAAARGH" of his deserved to be analysed by some anthropologists, psychologists, sociologists or even philosophers. Unfortunately there were't any around. There were not too many people around at all, all the present though enjoyed the show, grinning. The guys from that pizza place eagerly came out to watch too. Therefore he had to perform his act in front of ignoramuses, to cast the pearls of his despair before a rickshaw riders and such...!  How bitterly ironic was that! I had to do something! One needs to be proactive in our business, so I didn't have to think twice! As soon as they got next to me I plunged into his play: "AAAAAAARRRGH! Excuse me gents! Where are you going?" Well, they surly didn't expect that. Seeing that I got their full attention, I added instantly: "How about that: I'll take you somewhere, AAAAAARRGH, nice!" The one who tried to hold the self-thrower clearly swallowed the bait, for he gave his friend an earnest look, pointed his hand towards me and uttered solemnly: "He will!" The screamer hesitated and suddenly seemed very sober. For a second I really thought I was actually getting a lift! He looked at me closely, then at his friend and stated gravely: "I think he's probably taking a piss!" He started to walk away then. I realised that my friendly disposition was not welcome. Nevertheless I said to his back: "I think you are taking it too, AAAAAAAAAARRRRGGH, seriously!" It didn't work and he kept walking away. At least we had a good laugh, though, seriously! ;)

A prophet

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you for a long time!" Out of the blue a dodgy looking fellow greeted me like an old friend. He was scruffy and I didn't think I had ever seen him before. It didn't take a genius to realise that he was in desperate need to smoke some crack. "I was on the other side of Soho." - I answered quickly still recovering from bewilderment. "Are you all right?" - I asked looking at him scrutinisingly. "I'm good, thanks! What's your name?" - He asked me, covering his confusion caused by the funny look I just gave him. I said my name was Peter. "I'm Mohammed." We shook hands. "I need five pounds!" - announced Mohammed - "I applied for benefits, three weeks ago. They never answer, you know?!" - He exclaimed with indignation. He had a thick accent, all the "Rs" were pronounced pretty strongly. "So all the, so much criticised, cuts brought by The Tories are actually fruitful..." - I thought with satisfaction. Mohammed reached his pocket, produced a handful of change and started to count loudly: "One... Two... Three twenty five... Four thirty!" "You've got more than me!" - I observed quickly, which was actually true, for the night was simply shit. "Hmmm..." - mused Mohammed - "I need ten pounds to buy a stone!" - and seeing clearly that there was no hope of ripping me off, whatsoever, off he went. The night was awaiting him impatiently.

A gay joke

They say that, in the eighties, Soho of London used to be a very dangerous place. There are urban legends about crazy people with guns and shit. Nowadays, though, Soho is practically, exclusively gay. Cheap prostitutes, some dodgy peep shows and wasted crack-heads is all that remains of crazier times. Not even a decent strip club is left in the heart of Soho. Therefore majority of the stories related to Soho has that peculiar flavour... Once (it happened a few years ago) I was going up Old Compton Street. It was a warm, weekend night in summer. The street was very busy. As usual a relaxed crowd marched in front of me and around me. Encircled by all those people I rode slowly, shouting polite warnings and honking my trike's horn. There was a bunch of gay men walking slowly right in front of my trike. I stood no chance to overtake them, had to squeeze through, somehow. I asked them politely to let me get through. One of them, a chubby fellow, looked back at me and ordered: "Go on! I'll take it all in!"