West Walls Waltz.

Hoodie boy had dropped his Stanley knife and was half-heartedly trying to pull the knife out of his shoulder. His light blue hoodie now sported a dark crimson sleeve.
Not the latest fashion from Oakley or FCUK that was for sure!

“What?” barked hoodie boy. His face was a mask of pain and confusion.

“I think that when God was handing out brain cells you two were still picking your arses!” offered the older guy. “Now, here’s something to remember me by!”

Hoodie boy took the kick to the balls square on.
The old guy’s leg had moved so fast it caught him completely by surprise.
His legs buckled as a million needles took residence in his testicles…or that’s what it felt like.

Hoodie boy doubled over from the new pain explosion, he was on the cusp of passing out; such was the overload of agony that he’d suffered in such a short time.
Another snap kick rocketed into Hoodie’s face and put his lights out for the night.

The old guy turned to Wilson with a baleful look in his eyes. “Now it’s your turn dickwad!”

Paul Wilson –would be mugger – now half blind with the blood streaming down his face, tried to turn and run.
The old guy intercepted him easily by rapping him across the shins with the walking stick.
Wilson tumbled to the ground with a yelp of anguish.

“Who the fuck are you, man?” cursed the fallen man.

“No one that matters…let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen. I’m Neighbourhood Watch on Redbull.” smiled the old scrapper.

“You fucker!” declared Wilson. He wiped the blood from his eyes and stared up at the tricky old guy he had figured would be easy money.

“You got off easy tonight. If I ever hear of any one getting rolled around here again, it’ll be you I come looking for first.” warned the old dude.

Not knowing the truth of his words, Wilson challenged back; most street-punks don’t know when to keep it closed and Paul was no exception to the rule.

“I know where you live. I’m gonna fuck your wife to death when I get her…I’m gonna burn your fuckin’ house down around your ears. I’m gonna…”

SNAP…the old guy known to some as Danny ‘Mc Murder’ stamped down onto Wilson’s right ankle.
The delicate bones gave way under the tremendous force generated by the downward heel kick.

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