I drove up the street listening to classical music trying to drown out the hollow sound of minimum wage, council estate life. And as the beautifully emotive piece reached its crescendo, I was warm in a heavenly embrace and far enough away from my surroundings to feel blissfully indifferent. And then, out of the hollowness, he appeared...the Kamikaze-kid! Jumping out from behind a parked car, on some mini suicide mission, he scared me back to hell, and I was like: "WHOAH, YOU STUPID LITTLE FUCK! YOU GOT A DEATH WISH?"—he can't lip read and the windows were up, so I was safe, but he could tell I was pissed. He shrugged his shoulders and stared me down like I was a ten-year-old bottle of scotch, and he a ten-year-clean alcoholic—all predator like. I didn't know what to do! Do I jump out and kick his arse, or do I shoo him along like some suburban sheep...