Who the hell are you? The tradesmen’s entrance is at the rear.
I slapped her in the mouth, got a fistful of her hair, and dragged her to the window, opened it, and threw her out. I said:
‘Learn some manners, you bitch.’
And then I just strolled on out of there. No one noticed me, no one called:
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ I mean this shit is so easy, talk about shooting fish in a barrel.
You ever hear a quote and you’re not sure who said it, answer ‘Mark Twain,’ and 90 percent of the time, you’ll be right. He seems to have said everything at least once. The rest was uttered by Oscar Wilde. Straight up, Twain did say:
‘If the desire to kill and the opportunity to kill came always together, who would escape hanging?’
The first one, the guy, came about almost by accident. I was in Waterloo station, sitting in the cafe having a latte, and at the next table were a man and woman. He was berating her in a fashion that was astonishing. Like this:
‘You stupid cow, how could you forget the messages? I told you a hundred times, get the bloody things.’
And it got worse. I won’t trouble you with the vile stuff he said, it was in the vein of the above, only cruder. The woman finally got up, tears in her eyes, and fled. The other people in the place did what we all do, pretended not to notice, and so the likes of that prick flourish. I followed him out and he went to wait on the platform; the Brighton train was late and he was leaning over, muttering about British Rail. I came up behind him, pushed. Seemed kind of poetic.
There you have it, the first two, the grand beginning. Oops, there’s the doorbell, probably my girl. More on her later.
It depends on a complete assurance that a punch on the nose will not be the reply.