But in 2009, I was taking out the recycling at the end of the road, stamping on the big bits of cardboard to get them into the mouths of he recycling skips.
"Boss, boss, BOSS!" a teenaged lad comes running out of the little coppice behind the recycling center.
"You've got to help me, please!"
He's wearing only a T shirt, and this is in one of the coldest winters in 30 years.
"Boss, help, boss, please! BOSS!".
"Steady lad", I tell him, "What's up? And my name's Breaker, not boss".
"Mr Breaker, I need a phone! My Mum's out at church, her phone's off, there's no one at home, I've got no credit left on my phone and I need to call my sis, she'll help"; my eyes roll.
"I've been shivved! They want to kill, me, you gotta help me, boss, BOSS!".
Here we go, I think, I'll give you my phone and your teenage legs will carry you away with it faster than I can follow. And that's just Breaker, thanks, not Mr, and not boss. And your name is?
"Lee X" he says.
MBW had already left for Oz 3 weeks prior to this. My most treasured photos of both of them are on the phone.
He shivers a little, and I begin to wonder.
"OK, tell my your sisters number, and I'll call her".
We wait for the charade to complete; he's going to make some piss poor excuse; wrong number, give him the phone and he'll call the right number.
His sister answers, and I tell her her brother is with me, where's the Mum?
"Oh, she'll be off at bible study tonight" the voice on my phone says.
"Alright, call your brother then, where's you Dad tonight"?
"Ain't seen him since I was four".
His phone goes off, they talk for a little while. Lee stays very close to me during this, looking at the coppice wood in front of us. It's dark, and there's no lights in the woods.
I'm looking at the woods and wondering if it's just the lights flickering along the roadside, or is there someone there?
"And then they cut me" says Lee, pulling up his sleeve. His sister can't see it, he's only talking on the phone.
He has indeed been stabbed, a shallow cut through his bicep. Looks like a terminal screwdriver, to be honest, it's small diameter but right through his bicep. No exit wound, no pumping blood, just a little bit dribbling down his arm, not even as far as the elbow.
His sister isn't coming to help him, either.
Self recriminations follow, I've been on the end of enough scams in London (and fallen for them - once) - have I sunk so low my humanity has evaporated?
"Right then" I say. "Who did this to you?"
"The boys in my block, they try to steal my trainers every day, and if I don't give them money they'll shiv me up good. Jonny, he'll do it, he will".
I run through the possibilities; should I take him back to my place and call the filth? He's got a wound that's painful, but it isn't going to kill him.
Ah, but then, you're now effectively a single bloke though, aren't you? Your wife and kid are in Oz, remember? How will you explain that to the coppers if they come over?
So, I'll walk him back to his house. "That OK, Lee?"
"They'll be in the stairwells though, they always are".
"Then we'll have a chat with them, shall we Lee?"
He's gangly, a man almost gronw but not got the bulk; a fuzz on his cheeks but no weight. It's snowing, he's freezing cold, and this lad's just told me he's being victimised just like I was, for so long when I was a teenager.
I spent a good while getting seven bells kicked out of me, in my youth.
Until I learnt how to fight.
They are indeed waiting in the stairwell; second floor. They're smoking weed, we smell it as we round the corner. Lee points at one, and says "That's Johnny", before ducking back around the corner.
I walk around, my pleasant smily - pleased-to-meet-you face on full beam.
"Aii" he says, another big toke on the joint.
"OK, this lad Lee, you leave him be, alright? Just leave him be".
"That raaaight is is?" ooh swagger - he's being the big man for his reputation, and there is an audience, oh the lad next to him.
"Yes, it is".
"This my block". He's walking forward, trouble with his jacket.
I walk forward quicker though, and fuck me, top of my head comes up to his chin.
"Oh, he your batty then"?
"No." Another step closer.
Ah, and there we have it, a classic haymaker.
I didn't start it.
I'll finish it though, step forwards and in.
Elbow in the face, knee in the fruits and he's up against the wall, struggling for breath. All that's keeping him up is my elbow.
I push in, leg nestled into his groin like a lover.
"Lee is a good lad. If I hear you or your mates give him trouble, I'll be coming back here.
You understand"? Push
There's a nod, and I release the pressure on his throat.
Unfortunately I also sweep his legs from him, and he falls down the concrete stairs.
His mate runs upstairs.
A lady opens her door, and is a little troubled by the noise.
"Sorry, bit of trouble getting Lee home tonight"
Lee, bless him, pokes his head around the corner.
"Aiii" she says, "him was always trouble".
"You'll see Lee right, though?"
I do, he's listened on how to clean his stab wound, so he'll be OK. I tell him not to open the door; Mum's got keys right?
Johnny seems to be getting up though, so that's one thing less to worry over.
On the way down the stairs, I get scared.
What the fucking fuck was I thinking?
Short answer - I wasn't.
And again tonight, I just went into the shop to buy some bread.
Two blokes were in there, trying to steal some spirits and fags; they had baseball bats.
Elbows and knees, again. Two down, Breaker wins again.
Didn't see the third, who'd picked up a bottle of Martini.
The shop bloke did, though, and that's why I'm typing this instead of breathing through a tube.
I like fighting. I'll get up real close, and you won't even see it.
And I need to sort that out. I'm going to be a Dad again, RSN, and to my mind, kids need Dad's who are alive.
One of these days, I'm going to get killed.
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