Incredible Adventure(s) of Superman Alex

Superman Alex arrived to the base very excited. He left his rickshaw in the middle of the passage, came to the office and started his story: "I just had a lift to Fabric. Then that guy gets on my trike's saddle and he has hands full of some drug. He puts his hands to his face, clouds of white powder floating around him. He looks like Tony Montana. And then he just freezes there. I want to go, so I ask him to move over but he just ignores me... I try to lift him up gently but he's just completely rigid and he falls down... And he just stays there, his body all stiff. Ambulance arrives and then some other guy comes over to me and starts to shout..." "Who's this rickshaw?!?" - Suddenly we heard impatient voices. "Go and clear the passage Alex! You will finish the story later!" But he never came back, probably sharing the word in the depths of garage...

A persistent gay demon

One sunny afternoon I was in the corner of Long Acre St. and Drury Lane. People kept passing by indifferently. "Will you take me to Soho?" I looked up. There was a guy next to me. He was gay. And he was drunk. "I've seen those people giving you funny looks but I respect you!" He sat on my trike. "Look at me! I'm not as good as you, but trust me, I'm a demon!" I sighed. I needed a lift. I named a price and he showed me cash. On I went. "Stop! Stop!" He shouted as soon as we got to that pub in the corner of Neal St. and Shelton St. "Tell me what would you like?" He asked. I gave him a questioning look. He carried on: "A pair of jeans? Any other clothes from those shops around? I can get you anything!" "That's very kind of you, however, I basically want to get you to Soho and to charge you for the lift..." He paid me the fare right away and that time I managed to reach Wardour St. before he stopped me again. "I just came from Spain. I've got three businesses there. I'm half Spanish." He announced in his very thick London accent. "Are you half Spanish? Do you speak the language?" "Sure!" "Pues habla conmigo!" The gay demon got quite confused and decided it was about time to change the subject. "Listen!" He went on. "I worked very hard lately, just want to relax. Could you take me to any good brothel?" "Definitely! Let's go!" I moved on but very soon he wanted to stop again, that time in front of GAY Cafe. "So how much money do you want?" I looked at him in puzzlement. "You already paid me. If you want to go to that brothel I'll charge you that much when we get there." "I think I'll stay here. Come for a drink with me." "I can't drink now. I'm driving" "Come for a cake and a coffee " "Thanks but I'd rather be working now." "I see. Take my phone number." I did, just to get rid of him. "Now give me a missed call." "I'm Pay As You Go and out of credit" "Call me tomorrow then! I'm having a big party. You could earn a couple of hundred pounds!" "What a nons!" I thought and deleted his number as soon as I got around the corner.

"Some people wear suits...

...cause they think they look important." A guy in his early forties looked at me with drunk seriousness, a hat, rather nineties-boys-band-style, put backwards on his head. "I'm much more important then any of them... You know, I've got a gun here, in my rucksack..." He moved like if he wanted to show it to me. We were standing in front of a five stars massage parlour. "I believe you!" I said quickly. "You don't believe me a shit! You don't know who I am! Even if somebody calls Police I'll be fine!" There was a very fat car parked next to us (clearly some customers from Dubai or Saudi Arabia). "Ask that guy how much did he pay for this car... I will buy it from him right now!" He was swaying gently. "Are you all right?" - I asked. "K'mon!" - I added - "Take a seat. I will get you somewhere else." "Ok! Let's go to eat something! I invite you!" There was nothing open, except for a McDonald's. He didn't seem to like it much. "Is there any Arabic food around here?" "It's half four already, you see? Everything is shut by now..." We got in. "It's the second time in my life that I eat at McDonald's... I like real food, you know! You don't know who I am... I doesn't matter though, cause practically I'm the same like you..." I asked him what was his job. He smiled and said: "Just being a crazy drunk and hanging around, in the night like now..." We ate quickly, standing, and went out. "You've got to visit me, we need to meet again!" We shook hands. He got in a black cab and drove off. Charlie Chaplin smiled.

You ugly cunt!

After some time spent in Soho you realise that nothing really changes there. Same touts, same crack whores, clippers and junkies. Same nasty transvestite and transsexual prostitutes. There's one guy who puts a heavy make up on his face and stuffs his cloths with something that forms ludicrously exaggerated hips and breasts. He possibly goes by the name "Tanya". Another night I held my mobile in front of me writing a text. "Stop filming me!" - Shouted somebody. I didn't pay attention. Suddenly I saw that crossdresser right by my side. "Stop filming me, you ugly cunt!" Very surprised I told him quickly where to go. "Stop filming me or my purse will land on your head" - He lifted it up menacingly. "Fuck off! I'm sending a text!" Finally he got it. Nevertheless he started to frisk around giggling foolishly and exclaiming in high pitched voice: "STOP FILMING MEEEE!!! STOP FILMING MEEEE!" I sent my message and answered a phone call. As I was talking he kept approaching me quickly, shouting in my ear: "STOP FILMING ME!", and laughing like if it was a great prank...

Why don't you stay with me?

Night was quiet. In vain I kept going on and on in circles. Finally I stopped in empty Barclays bikes stand in front of O Bar. A Scandie guy came to me asking for a lift to Strand. My first mistake was that I didn't realise how pissed that fellow got. My second mistake was not to understand quickly and clearly that "London's best kept secret hotel" Strand Continental is not exactly in the same league as Savoy or even Strand Palace... Naively on I went while my customer was producing soft suckling-like sounds, a bit like if he was trying to sing or to learn how to speak again. Probably that was the case and I got it pretty straight as soon as I stopped not far from Waterloo Bridge, asking if he knew where we were. Readily he fell off my trike, repeating quietly "one four three... one four three...". Impressed by that profound numerological analysis I got him directly to the door of his hotel (nr 143), where we found an imposing pool of urine. Unlike Moses he didn't wait for a strong dividing wind and just stepped in the middle of that sea of piss. The worst of all though, was that he had no money on him. Nolens volens I followed him to his room but he had no cash there either. He was acting like a little lost child. I don't really think he was pretending. He was basically a living dead at that instant... I took his mobile and made a missed call to my number. Suddenly he stepped forward, rested his head on my shoulder and uttered: "Why don't you stay here with me? We could sleep together..." My enthusiasm wasn't there. Next day I kept calling him. He never answered. Finally he texted me complaining about a huge hangover... Once I told him what happened he quickly lost any interest... Ungrateful cunt!

Jacuzzi Jet

On that night somebody got killed on Regent St. Judging by the number of tents set up on pavement and partly on the road (I guess over the dead bodies) even two people... My problem, though, was of a different nature. I got a puncture that I just wasn't able to fix. It took me two hours in pouring rain before I was able to drive away. I went around hunting for a lift and just couldn't get anything at all. As usual I didn't want to give up. I carried on and on in circles. On Oxford St., just by Oxford Circus I saw F. talking to someone. I waved at him and went on. As I approached those spooky tents, being guarded by three or four police officers on Regent St, something very strange happened. I heard a loud explosion. It sounded like a shot. Alarmed cops looked out from between the tents. I felt my trike slowing down. I got no doubt. My wheel just burst... Boys in blue realised what happened, sneered and disappeared. I squatted by my trike to examine the damage. It was serious. Not just the inner tube exploded, the tire was torn out too... God knows why... There was nothing I could do. To push it back, walking, all the way back to base, was the only option. Then F. suddenly appeared, just like a guarding angel! He saw me and stopped by. "I felt something happened to you!" He looked around. "Somebody got killed, eh?" We set my trike's front wheel over the back of his rickshaw. He sat down on the passenger's seat and I started to tow my poor, punctured baby. Policemen watched us curiously as we entered Great Marlborough St. "You know, I visited that sauna again." - Started F. seated comfortably. It was a way better than walking but still quite hard. "First that woman was wanking me in jacuzzi..." His saddle was much too low for me. "...and then I asked her: Do you want to go to a private room?" Also his rickshaw wasn't the smoothest going machine I had ever tried. "And she says: I'm ready to do this right here, right now!" No doubt, I could gain some momentum by lifting up the saddle. Unfortunately... "So, as I was fucking her..." ...it seemed to be fixed permanently. "...a jet was massaging my balls. It was NICE!"

Banksy

He approached us suddenly, right in front of that cafe on the corner of Old Compton St. and Frith St. I was tired and rather upset. In my pocket left nothing but two coins: one pound and one pence. So he came right at us and he went: "Five pence guys! Please, spare me five pence!" I noticed his worn out face. Those crackheads always look elder then their actual age. A sleeping bag hanging over his shoulder screamed about homelessness. What could I do, though? One pence was not enough. One pound was too much... Dryly I offered him a lift, meaning that I'm only a poor street hustler too. He looked at my mate beseechingly and uttered: "I'm Banksy!" "What?" - My companion looked at him in puzzlement. "I'm Banksy!" "Yeah! Right!" - Said I - "I'm Banksy too!" That said I turned my back on him.