Walking home I passed the RBS building in Aldgate, the area where the new pavement has just been laid and new crossings installed, when I noticed a man walking towards me. He was wearing a smart suit with disturbingly shinny shoes. He looked middle aged and his hair was greying at the temples. As he approached I realised he was looking at me and saying, “Live show”. In a very broad Scottish accent he repeated the two words, staring into my eyes.
“Eeer Robbie, where’s the live show?” He stopped directly in front of me bringing me to a halt. He placed his arm over my shoulder, gripping me tightly. I cringed as I smelt the sweet rank odour of excrement and cider.
“Sorry, I am in a terrible rush,” I replied as I tried to push his arm away. His grip tightened and again he asked where the show was. I wondered if maybe this fellow knew who I was and had read about the upcoming Enormous gig at the Town Mill in Mansfield.
“Eeer Pingu, where’s the live show?”
“Did you call me Pingu?”
“Live show Robbie, live show.”
I forcibly pulled away and quickly walked down Whitechapel High Road. I could hear the man behind me. His drunken Scottish lilt had disappeared. The dark-suited man’s voice had taken on a tone suggesting something far more sinister, knowing, conspiratorial and threatening.
“Live show Pingu, live show,” he repeated.
2 Comments
Is that where you pay £500 to see someone shoot a Thai girl in the head?
Eh? Have you been looking at them funny websites again?