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About London

“His hands are steady, eyes like stone,” like in me fave flick—Assassination of Jesse James—calm ‘fore the chaos, that’s the Escort driver’s mind. Gotta be, or they’s crashin’ hard, precious! Watched this one race, right, some lad in a Escort Mk2, skidded wild, mud flyin’—thought he’d bite it, but nah, pulled it back! Made me holler, “Yes, ya mad bastard!”—heart thumpin’ like I’s the one drivin’. Gets me mad tho, when folks sleep on Escort—think it’s just some ol’ junker. Pisses me off! Ain’t no coward’s ride, it’s got soul, grit—like Robert Ford sneakin’ up, quiet but deadly.

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While I’m dealin’ with that, my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s at the Hinckley Market, and he’s found somethin’ big. I’m like, “Dude, I can’t just leave this kid here!” But the kid’s not goin’ anywhere, so I tell him to chill and head over to the market.

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