Hauling himself from under the motor on his 'push-board' he glared up at me,one arm over his eyes to block out the sun.His hairy arm-pit was soaked in...sweat and a faint odour of adult sweat wafted up to my nostrils."Fuck's sake,k**.You nearly gave me a bleedin' heart attack."He rubbed at the reddening spot on his grease-streaked forhead and muttered under his breath."Sorry,Tony.Would you like me to get you some aspirin or owt?"Still glaring he snarled,"Too soddin' right,k**.There's some in me. Dutiful son that I am, I spat in it ... no! Silly! It's what I wanted ... no, longed to do ... but I placed my Carte Blanche card in her hot little hand. Her fingers were hot enough that I expected a permanent warp.The card was laid on the machine, the bill for each suit was placed on top and the roller imprinter embossed the carbon-copies and original. I signed. The collector of monies (shop clerk ... probably ... but then again ... it IS Savile Row ... so shop clerk seems 'cheap.') called in. More

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