Children of the night

Me and one fellow rider from Bangladesh (think his name is Ariv) had a long lift from Regent Street to that popular club called Fabric in Farringdon. As soon as we finished by Smithfield Market I was approached by two fellows who asked me to take them to London Bridge. We were negotiating a price for a moment and finally one of them simply sat on my trike. "Do you want to do this?" - His friend asked him, kind of surprised. He looked at me then, produced some notes from his pocket and inquired if I wanted the money upfront. I said I trusted him and he could pay me once we arrived. He thanked me and shook my hand. Off we went. As I started the guy who sat on the rickshaw first yelled roughly: "Pump it!!!" I didn't like it much so I looked him in the eye grinning a warning. He just laughed loudly and extended his hand to shake mine. Only by then I noticed that his face was all covered with bruises as from a recent fighting. I also realised that their eyes glistened in a peculiar way. Both of them were high as fuck. I started to regret I didn't take the money beforehand but it was too late. We only got around the corner when the other fellow (not the one who's face was all bruised) asked: "Do you like cocaine? Do you want some?" I refused politely and felt somewhat relived. They seemed friendly and relaxed, not hyperactively paranoid and aggressive as some people get when on drugs. "It's puro! Good stuff! I got it from my neighbour!" - He insisted but let go when I refused again. He clearly was in a chatty mood, though. "Are you married? Have you got any children? How old are you?" I told him I was 32, no children. "Come on man! I'm 30 and I've got two already. My oldest son is 14!" "You didn't waste your time, huh?" - I smiled at him. "It's in my blood!" - He stated proudly. He paid me without any problems, after we arrived, both of them expressing politely their gratitude.