Something I dreamt up

Jonathan didn’t even bother looking as he crossed the busy road, lanes of cars screeching to a halt in an almost futile attempt to avoid crashing into this person, sending a body spiralling into the air to come down with a thump on the bonnet of the car following behind or with a sharp crack as bone met tarmac.

Several drivers whose cars had narrowly missed killing Jonathan had begun to lean through the side windows of their vehicles, shouting an impressive array of obscenities. Jonathan took no notice. He had his iPod turned up to the maximum permitted volume. He was thinking and he needed his own space to do it, away from the drone of traffic, the click of the secretary’s nails against the plastic of the keyboard.

He strode with purpose, through the double doors of the coffee shop and up to the counter. "Skinny cap with extra foam, no chocolate. Large. Hot. When you have a moment. Please." He was smiling. The sales assistant – the preferred title of the catering industry – looked back with a glum face.

"Of course, sir," she replied. She turned her back to make the coffee. Jonathan tapped a coin on the side of the counter. He was irritating the other customers. It wasn’t the coin that had caused the patrons to display a degree of annoyance; it was his shouting that had aroused a general feeling of animosity towards him. Jonathan wasn’t aware he hadn’t removed his earphones before ordering. He was tapping his coin and nodding his head to the beats; all that could be heard by anyone else was a hissing punctuated by a squeal whenever the guitarist had his solo moment of glory.

The song finished. Jonathan took one of the earphones out of his ears and replaced it with a finger, which he waggled in an attempt to clear some wax. The girl sat down a cup in front of him, asked for some money and held out her hand.

Jonathan spun round, waving his hand above his head as he announced: Pop it on my tab! In a flash he was gone, his departure marked only by further honking horns and the screech of rubber as he walked back into the office.

-*-

This fucking berk, what a tosser, simply walked out in front of us this morning, didn’t he. Twat. Tony told us to put our foot down and "teach the bastard a lesson he looks like he deserves" but I already had my foot on the brake, anticipating the change of lights up ahead. Idiot never even noticed. Barry, sat in the back, was panicking that someone was gonna come up and smash us in the arse-end, but the other cars swerved to avoid me. Barry was probably worried cos Tony had told him about the last bloke we had in the back, how he was killed by a piece of the kit smacking on the back of the head when I’d had to brake sharp before, cos I noticed a copper as I was thinking of running a red light. Just stopped I did. Poor nipper in the back weren’t so lucky. Nah. Trowels are sharper than you’d think. Well, Tony’s was.

We had to stop at Burger King so Barry could change his pants. He said it was a simple loo stop, but my nose told me different. He’ll be moaning about a sore arse later, once his jeans have got wet and rubbed against his bollocks. That’ll teach him. He won’t be back tomorrow. Guarantee it.

Anyway, good to see you Charlie. Best to the missus, won’t ya? C’mon Barry, we ain’t got all fucking day.

-*-

There we were, sitting in the burger bar place when we hear the screech of brakes. A lot of rubbernecking going on, that’s what the papers would call it. Anyways, some mates of Charlie’s come in; we listened to the story, some bloke off his head on music not looking where he was going or some such shite.

My own head was banging. The pills from the night before still playing havoc with my train of thought. I wanted to be home in bed, but I owed Charlie a favour and the cash would come in handy; as long as the dole office didn’t find out I’d be in the clear to get away this weekend and party in the countryside with me mates. Sorted.

Wasn’t long before we was up and out of the café, back in the cab of Charlie’s lorry and crawling through the morning rush hour traffic. I fell asleep for a while. When I woke, we’d only moved about a mile; it had taken an hour. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

Well, the job went well. All good. Got me stash of cash and we was heading back the same way we come in this morning. I got Charlie to drop me off at the burger bar again, but I walked down further to a coffee shop. I fancied some cake and a cappychino thing, I loved the way the froth gathered on me top lip, like a white moustache.

I got on me phone, called the lads and arranged to meet them in the usual place, just five minutes walk from where I sat. Sorted.

-*-

Later that day, Jonathan left the office for the final time. He was done. A wave of relief swept over him as he walked across the road. Taking more care this time, he stepped through the traffic, most of which was stationary in the Friday night logjam. Jonathan decided he needed a quick final coffee before heading home.

With a quick flurry of hand signals, he made his way across the road and through the doors of the coffee shop. As he entered, he caught his jacket on the chair of a young man, spilling his coffee.

Jonathan didn’t bother to turn and apologise, he was unaware of the upsetting of the coffee cup, his mind only interested in his usual latte. The young man didn’t appear to want to make a scene beyond a small amount of tutting. As Jonathan moved towards the counter, the young man got up, retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket and left the café.

Two minutes later and it was Jonathan’s turn to leave. As soon as he was through the doors, he was confronted with a group of youths. He didn’t recognise the young man he had bumped into only moments before.

"It’s about time you learned not to be so fucking rude." This would be the first sentence the police would write in Jonathan’s statement, once he had regained consciousness.