I went to the club where this bloke was the doorman.

He wanted me to think he was an innocent, ordinary bloke, but I wasn't going to fall for that trick.

The bloke selling sketches in the park was a comfort, not a fear, though in fact before he’d even graduated he was already making substantial money from his work.

But to the bloke who’s requesting that I type faster - pipe down, son.

“I walk in, and I see this bloke, this scruffy bloke. He’s in like a real old sweater with holes in it, jeans with holes in.”