At this point, Leemo, a man known to most as wheel chair guy wheeled onto the close, even if you couldn’t see him there was no way you could not hear this intermittent panting when he rolled by. This was a very irregular breathing pattern if you ask me but I’m not a doctor, still.
He had the use of one arm and one leg, apparently he suffered a ‘fall’ one day, yet anytime he started talking about this to somebody, he got the ‘hard stare’ off Albert which seemed to stop him mid breath. Truthfully that ‘hard stare’ would stop anyone in their tracks regardless of the subject matter.
Leemo winged it round to the side of the bench and positioned himself next to Albert, he proceeded to reach into the side of his chair with his one good hand and take out some drug paraphernalia; rizla, tobacco and the like. He was old school, so he was still on the small red rizlas and seeing as he only had the use of the one arm, he had developed what some might describe as an invaluable skill. He single handedly constructed a three paper zoot, it wasn’t loose, it wasn’t tight, it was just right, a smokers delight really.
There they sat, on the close, 2 on the bench, one in a chair, drinking and drugging, frightening passers by with their presence alone.
Every now and again mad Scottish tramp would swear under his breath, at nothing in particular, perhaps life on the road was getting him down.
Albert often just nodded his head in agreement but never said much, he would observe everything around him but not in a paranoid way. Albert’s demeanour was over powering and projected the unpredictability of your scarier than average mad man about town. The hours rolled by as the bench began to deform into the angular shapes of their tramp arses. The old Irish geeze from outside the bank came strolling onto the close with a ‘Dick van Dyke come Billy the Kid’ swagger. “Daaaaavie”, he crooned as he looked all three in the eye, “I’ve got an offer for ya, an offer you can’t refuse”
At this point, he was staring at Albert; Albert returned the stare with a blank yet omniscient look on his face. This lasted for a period of time unknown, but it was long enough to remember it was significantly longer than a normal ‘stare down’. The Irish geeze then tipped his hat and spun on his heel, he walked as though he was leaving the close, and without looking back he gestured with his hand for Albert to follow him.
Without saying a word, Albert slowly got up, nodded at his two companions, I imagine that the nod meant ‘stay’ because they didn’t get up to follow him. He had gone after the Irish geeze, marching out of the close, he made a left and the old man tapped on his shoulder.
“Listen Davie, you strong arm having fella you, listen close”. He leaned in, speaking for hours detailing some plan or other to Albert, who just nodded, the man spoke in an animated fashion, taking off his hat drawing figures in the air with it, spinning it around and putting it back on his head. Until finally, Albert gave the big man nod and walked away, this is when he started the bop, the mad man bop, the ‘I might punch you up or I might give you some stolen flowers’ bop. Albert was unpredictable, flagrant, definitive and more alive than ever.
Tramp Chronicles: Irish Tramp, what on earth?
Who was this old Irish tramp? Why did he keep calling Albert, Davie? Better still why did Albert have it? The last question was the most perplexing to Albert, although he didn’t like to blow his own trumpet he was a grime Lord and no one ****** with him and got away with it. Although this might seem like a minor annoyance to a normal person Albert had abducted people’s kids for less, he had a rep and this would simply not do.
As he sat down on the bench thinking about what had just happened he felt the urge to punch wheelchair guy in the face, he fulfilled this urge and knocked out another one of his front teeth. Wheel chair guy spat the blood out of his mouth, thankful that he had managed to stay in his chair this time, because trying to crawl back into your wheel chair with one arm and limited legs is a *****. Albert seemed to be having another one of his turns so wheel chair guy and mad Scottish tramp ****** off.
Albert didn’t remember much of his meeting with that Irish tramp, but he felt different his superhuman tramp capabilities seemed to be enhanced. Also there was a yearning for something, something he could not quite put his special brew smelling finger on. He needed some answers so he set off to find this Irish tramp. Albert didn’t think that this would be a problem as this was his manor and he could find anyone that was out on road. At this time of the morning the streets were his, it was nice and quiet, the perfect conditions for disposing of an unsuspecting old tramp.
Baffled again. Albert try as he might could not locate this old tramp. He was just beginning to doubt himself when he heard that mocking old voice with an Irish accent saying ‘Davie’ directly behind him. Even Albert was in awe at the stench of this guy’s breath and for the first time in the longest while Albert experienced a shiver down his spine. No one crept up on Albert. But here was this old Irish Tramp standing down wind from him stinking of piss and smiling a toothless smile. Albert reacted from fear for the first time in his life and tried to bore the Irish tramp in his neck with his rusty fingernails. The tramp seemed to disappear but from nowhere he was behind him again. This time he was laughing Ah Ha HA Ha Ha Ha………. ‘You’ve got potential Davie there’s a war comin an you’ve got works to do!’ The Irish guy was gone and Albert looked at his can of special brew for answers; war? Potential? Works? Albert had never completed a days ‘work’ in his life.. The only thing that he knew for certain was that getting rid of this old Irish bastard would be a lot harder than anticipated.
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