From the vaults
Sep. 19th, 2006 01:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
webofevilJune 2003
Yesterday I met the worst pimp in the world.
I turned the corner into Rupert Street and he lurched into my path. I began to sidestep him as he started his spiel. “Mate, mate.” I shook my head as he carried on. “Just stop a minute.” Then he grabbed my arm. I looked at his hand. “Can you let go?” I said. “I’m just talking to you,” he said. “No you're not. You’re holding my arm,” I replied.
Undeterred, he showed me the wares he was offering. “Look at that!” he yelled, jabbing his finger towards a nearby standard-issue, seen-too-much, gets-older-with-every-glance ghetto courtesan. “Are you telling me you don’t want...” “No,” I assured him. “What? Why? Are you scared? Are you a poofter?” He tightened his grip. “Are you a batty boy?”
“Just let it go,” I suggested. “You have not made a sale.”
“No, I’m arksing you,” he continued loudly as people started to turn and stare. “Are you a shit-stabber? Do you fuck arse?” I debated some options (e.g. Noel Coward voice: “Ah, dear boy...”) but swiftly decided by far the safest was just to look him in the eyes and say “No”.
He flung away my arm in disgust, muttered “You must be”, and stormed off.
Yesterday I met the worst pimp in the world.
I turned the corner into Rupert Street and he lurched into my path. I began to sidestep him as he started his spiel. “Mate, mate.” I shook my head as he carried on. “Just stop a minute.” Then he grabbed my arm. I looked at his hand. “Can you let go?” I said. “I’m just talking to you,” he said. “No you're not. You’re holding my arm,” I replied. Undeterred, he showed me the wares he was offering. “Look at that!” he yelled, jabbing his finger towards a nearby standard-issue, seen-too-much, gets-older-with-every-glance ghetto courtesan. “Are you telling me you don’t want...” “No,” I assured him. “What? Why? Are you scared? Are you a poofter?” He tightened his grip. “Are you a batty boy?”
“Just let it go,” I suggested. “You have not made a sale.”
“No, I’m arksing you,” he continued loudly as people started to turn and stare. “Are you a shit-stabber? Do you fuck arse?” I debated some options (e.g. Noel Coward voice: “Ah, dear boy...”) but swiftly decided by far the safest was just to look him in the eyes and say “No”.
He flung away my arm in disgust, muttered “You must be”, and stormed off.
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