I’m sorry I’m late. Was downtown. My fist got entangled in someone’s face. You know how it is, just couldn’t get away. Once I’d started,
I had to finish. Anyway, it’s been masterminded.
What was it? I’d been insulted. You know how it is : it’s the look.
A sneer, or a leer, whatever. Nettled, I stung back, retaliated in fury with
a flurry of ferocious fists.
I don’t like to be looked at by strange men. Women too, but there I
restrain myself, make do with spitting – you know how it is.
Xenophobic? Not me. Chinks, niggers, dagos, cockneys, scouses,
taffies, paddies, yids, yanks – it’s immaterial, have swatted the lot.
Whimsical expressions, the smirks of berks ; I take offence to those too.
Then there’s those which cast aspersions. I have considered wearing
a shirt whose front is labelled ‘Private’, but decided against it as it
would attract attention. As you well know, I am not per se an aggressive person.
Anyway, can’t stay long, I’m afraid. The wife is expecting company and… well
You know how it is