Abi was about to become the last person in Pimlico Village, London, to give up on Fix.
Yes, he was the local grocer who sold him forty small plastic bags everyday for Fix to stuff weed in, the very despicable mature man who felt that any minute Allah was to punish him with lightening for exchanging his pound coins for notes- just for the buzz he felt when being called ” boss” every night.
That very morning Abi had done his morning prayer in the same stolen t-shirt bought off from Fix, this notorious fifteen year old who had even made his mother ill.
A new stock of cherry tomatoes was dumped by the delivery man.
” These are the smaller version of myself!” said Lesly Windrum, the enlightened old schizophrenic from the third floor upstairs.
Hearing this, Abi dropped the customer’s change all over, and the lights flickered again. The electrician was four hours late already.
This was a message from Allah. So he viciously hid the tomato case behind the counter. Then he looked at his watch. It was a Hugo Boss that Fix had sold to him- and it hurt Ali’s eyes.
It was going to be a long day til Fix turned up at his shop, whispering “hello, Boss. Anything for me?”
But as Destiny has it’s own funny way of synchronizing, Fix turned up at 4 PM. He needed baby milk again for his secret son or Suzy, the betrayed mother, would give his name to the Doctor and reveal his fatherhood.
Fix had that smile on him, this different kinda a smile he only put on when he needed something off credit.
” ok I’ll give you your milk boy. Stay here, I have got something for you.”
“Thanks, said Fix. You’re a sick devil. And I’m not a boy.”
All customers were served quickly but roughly. Abi put finger on his lips as if he were about to pass on a deadly secret:
” I got new stock today. “Magic Tomatoes”. They’re grown at the feet of an old volcano that has just erupted. See. You take one. It’s like gas pumping you up.”
More Humour here.