I don’t know where my dealer is or whether he wants my custom. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be interested, that is, unless the boys at the Cafe have tipped him with an ill report of my character and trustworthiness. If that is the case I’m truly considering taking on the general bitterness characteristic of the ‘simple generous man’. You know the one, he mostly likely tiled your bathroom, assuring you that ‘if he’s gonna do a job he’s gonna do it the right way’ and lists the benefits for each party involved. His sentences begin with ‘You see’ and end with ‘Am I right?’ or perhaps the other way around while interspersed segues challenge your waning focus, like the ambiguously rhetorical question of his own idiocy, he pauses long enough for you to consider the harness he has on phrasing to both engage and delude the listener at the same time, because an honest days work barely meets the demand of child support and that’s the fucking irony of a sentimental work ethic, even though he’d been fucked over on the last job which was a mansion owned by his ex’s brother who became jealous of him spending too much time with his wife. He looks at you, one brow furrowed with the strain of abused good intentions the other slightly raised positively expectant and with rehearsed nonchalance solicits an additional weeks pay cash in hand while doing you a favour and knocks off at 2pm on a Thursday, for the weekend.

Is this feeling that I've been hard done by as appealing as it is common? I just want some weed and a few non-dramatic semi available mates. Am I actually that arsehole just blazing an ignorant trail of inconsiderate carnage proving that what goes around just keeps coming around uniquely in the form of more arseholes.

Sure there are many alternatives to the simple generous man, but for now that’s whose native response appeals to my bitter well-meaning arsehole, with a whisker and a wank to justify it.