Gonna Make You Pay Your Fare, Pay Your Fare

I was getting the train back home today. No one had come to take my fare and just as my destination was approaching, a ticket inspector came in to the carriage. I walked up to get off, knowing that I was about to get collared for my fare right at the last.

Standing opposite me, also waiting to alight the train was a drunk bam. A drunk bam playing loud hip-hop from a ghettoblaster. The kind of loud hip-hop that if you were writing a parody of a hip-hop song it would be this. “Gonna make you suck ma dick. Suck ma dick. Suck ma dick. Gonna make you suck ma dick. Suck ma dick….”

So whom does the ticket inspector turn to? Does he turn to the bam to ask ‘Can you turn off your offensive loud music please?’ or at least ‘tickets please?’ Or me? Of course I get collared for my train fare while the bam skips past him through the next carriage and off, blaring ‘Gonna make you suck ma dick. Suck ma dick…’ as he goes.

As I walked through the tunnel behind him out of the station he stopped and set his boombox down in order to adjust his electronic ankle tag.

As Fraser has often said, there’s only two types of people in this country who do exactly as they want. Those at the top of the social ladder and those at the bottom.