No more sympathy for late night drunkards

After 11pm there is only one shop around West End with a licence to sell alcohol at night. Two days ago a guy I met in Soho was very thirsty. I decided to help out a poor devil. I took him to that shop. (Let me add that the shop is not exactly around the corner.) On the way he mention that, recently, he heard "a lot of shit" about rickshaw riders. I advised him to stop reading Evening Standard. When we got there, before he actually entered the off-licence, he asked if I could take him back to Tottenham Court Road station. I assured him about it and named my price. "What? I'll give you a fiver in total! Otherwise I can give you just a couple of quid for bringing me here!" Saying this he entered the shop. There he picked up three beers and produced a twenty pound note to pay for them. Next he stepped out and handed over to me two pounds and seventy three pence. I told him that he shouldn't expect people to carry him about for free. "Here's a fifty p more!" Generously he tried to stick it in my hand. It had been a while since I saw such a joker. I threw all that petty change into plastic bag where he kept his beers and told him to take that and fuck off. As I was riding off he kept shouting behind my back: "Geezer! Come here! It ain't cool! Geezer! Come back" Nevertheless I felt cooler and cooler as the distance kept growing between us. Finally, when I disappeared around the corner, I was cool as a cucumber.

Believe it or not, history is repeating. Yesterday some drunk Russian asked me for the same thing. Very innocently on my behalf, I decided to help a fellow man. On the way to the same shop he kept bitching about quite a lot. "Verrr iz dat shop! How farrr iz dat shop!" Finally he shut up. I was rather happy about it until I got there. I Looked back only to discover that my trike was empty. That bastard jumped off and ran away! I didn't even realised when... Therefore here's my message to all the late night drunks: cash upfront, you twats, or help yourselves to the water from the puddles!

Lost

I had a lift to Euston station. As I was about to get back to West End a young Russian lad came to me and said: "Wardour Street, can you do it?! How long?" I told him it would probably take about 10 minutes and he was in. He was in a hurry but still acted very politely. He kept talking with some girl on his phone and soon I realised she was waiting for him somewhere on the street, that's why he was in so much rush. I was pushing on hard. After a while he understood something. "Listen! Where did you pick me up from?" "Euston Station, why?" "You know, I left that club on Wardour Street, in Soho, and I got lost. I walked on and on. I ended up where you picked me up from.. Were I going in circles by any chance?" "Well... Kind of..." - I told him. He asked me to stop by a cash point. He was very grateful and he proved it giving me much more money than I expected. Finally I got him to Wardour Street. The girl waiting for him was very fit. He thanked me again and ran straight to her. It seemed to me that she was slightly annoyed...