“And you’ve given up completely on the drawings and stuff, right?”

“No way! Well, not exactly. I go out some days with me stuff.”

“I never see you out there. I haven’t seen you for months. Anywhere.”

“Well, I’m trying to stake out new places, amn’t I? I don’t like to just do the one spot all the time, you know. That’s not how the art business works, Jammy.”

“The art business. That’s what you’re calling chalk drawings on the frigging footpath, is it?”

Tierney folded his arms. The tattoo of the snake and the guitar swelled out from his upper arm.

“It’s the summer, man. There are millions of chalkies out there. Jesus! Foreigners even. Every street-corner. What am I supposed to do, have a barney right there in the street with every single one of them so’s I can have a good spot to show me stuff?”

“Let me guess. You want me to stand there with you and collect money for you.”

“I can look after myself, so I can.”

“What, then? You came by to talk about the bleeding weather?”

“I want to get on with someone, Jammy. You know.”

The shadows dug deeper into Tierney’s forehead.

“What,” he said.

“You know. Get something going. A future. Show what I can do.”

Tierney continued to stare at him but his eyes had slipped out of focus.

“The Egans? You are a header. ‘The Egans’ he says. Like he really means it.”

“Don’t give me that look, Jammy. Come on! I done stuff!”

“Crack, you mean. Speed.”

“You’re not even giving me a chance, man.”

“Chance at what? Here, let me tell you something. Nothing personal now.”

He leaned in close to whisper.

“You’re a total waster. Okay? You’re out of your box.”

“All I’m saying is maybe you can put me in touch with people.”