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.