He was a cause for concern. Where trouble lurked, you would find him shuffling around the edges, dabbling in a bit of this, a bit of that. He could get you anything you wanted, bottle-tops, pogo-sticks, baking-soda. A multitude of events hidden in the lining of his faux-fur jacket.

‘Why don’t you wear a pin-striped suit like all the other?’ I once asked.

‘Different class, son, different class,’ he replied.

He would let you pay in instalments. Once a week, after payday, if you were lucky to have a job. Deep down, he was a good sort. Same as the rest of us, trying to scrape enough to take into tomorrow. Your debt would be added to your tab. Most people down our street had tabs which would be carried over onto his headstone.

3 thoughts on “Spiv

  1. Simply trying to make a living. I guess perspective is what draws the line between repute and disrepute. Love the way you ended this. Many debts outlive their owners. A wonderful piece, Davy. 🙂

    1. Thank you for your kind words, Terveen and glad you enjoyed the piece. You are right about perspective. We will all do what we need to to survive and we will always view a world from where we stand at that time.

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