The Other Columbian

Okay, so Rod taps up to the ringleader and belts him one in the mouth, a kilo of heroin juggernauting into the air, Rod grinning like a gibbon. The other Columbian, the one with the gold necklaces and bad skin takes a swipe at Rod, who sidesteps him and upturns the table sending talc and baby laxative all over the place. The other, other Columbian, the one with fenny teeth and chancy eyes pulls a carbine from the back of his trousers and says, ‘fucking fuck, now look what you’ve done.’ Rod knees him in the mons Venus and says, ‘over-acting eh, I’ll friggin show you over-acting,’ and throws an elbow into the side of his jaw, feet tapping like a dervish on PCP. I awaken with my feet callipered in my sheets, check to make sure my poster of Sidney Poitier is still on the wall at the foot of my bed, and place my feet on the floor gingerly.