Not 39 Forever: No. 5 Good Samaritan / Bad Samaritan

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I give a lad a lift to work who works at our place most mornings. I was sat outside his house in me car off Wigan Lane at 8am this morning when there’s a knock on the window off a burly gentleman. I wind my window down. Well, I press the button – my car’s not that old.

“Taxi, you know a taxi number?” in a thick East European accent. I was smiling at first, just thought I had locked my mate out or it was someone else who knew me or a neighbour telling me to get the frig out of his parking space. This isn’t good at all. “321500”. He keys the number into his mobile, slow as fuck like. I have to say the numbers two at a time. This isn’t right, not right at all. Distraction tactics. “You speak to him”. “No mate I’m waiting for someone, I’m late for work”


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