In the cafe with the others, pressing, squinteyed.
Gotta chance 'as it? gonna win? Charlie, Gets
out the traps quick, does it? Wag sails in, fists
pumping, 'it that lid six, go on my son.
Can hear Johnny, Nah, she wouldn't let 'im
near 'er, pissed I fink. Sits down next to me.
Finish in front, will it? Site agent in the corner
Man o' the moment, eh? they buyin' yer tea?
Sykesey's brother, 'ope it runs faster than
you cut in sashes. Guffaws, heads back,
snared teeth, spittle. Be of some fuckin' use
then, tell us. Hear Billy at the counter, Airship
on a cloud, luv. Turns his head, Romford, an' it?
Come on, chrissake, 'orse's mouf an' that.
It's a dog, I say. It can speak then. Can't
paint windows though. Foreman rising. Let's
do some, it's a big ceilin', long run till tea.
They squeeze past him. Two strides back, face
into mine. Better not cross that line in front if we
ain't on it. Leave my babies on a raft to get cold.
Hit that lid: If a greyhound leaves the traps very quickly
theoretically its head will hit the inside of the rising gate.
Airship on a cloud: 'sausage and mash'.
Babies on a raft: 'beans on toast'.