Pub

I sat down in the pub in the afternoon at the same table as some other bloke, sixtysomething. "Hello mate". I've only sat there as it is by the window and there is enough light for my failing eyes to read the paper. "I'm addicted to crime...my dear old little old mum was a humble cleaner, used to work for Francis Bacon...you should always carry a weapon (searches for waiter's friend then holds corkscrew part between fingers) you can blind a bloke with this...I've done time in Parkhurst, all over the place...I've done a lot of porridge.. what's Brighton like these days? I was here on the run in the seventies.. I was certified insane at Broadmoor...Reggie Kray...east end boy...lived round the corner blah blah blah"

His disposition is unthreatening, but he fails to notice I just want to read the cricket report in the Guardian.