Tony and me have just come back from the pub, because we've both had too much to drink, and because we've both run out of cash.
A lack of money is just one of the problems associated with being unemployed, and as I stare out of our window, at the shitty London street below, I think I would do anything right now to get a decent double cheeseburger and fries from our favourite fast food restaurant. Tony says that people like us just don't get a fair deal, and that being unemployed is like being a murderer or drug-dealer, because we'll always be spat on and shit upon by society.
I reckon that he's right, and although we've both been unemployed for for years, I sometimes wonder how we manage to survive day to day, on our diet of burgers, cigarettes, strong lager and whisky.
Somebody in the pub the other day had the audacity to suggest that we both get a job, and stop feeding off the state like two disease-ridden parasites. Well, of course, Tony was having none of that, and after pinning the fucker against the wall, he gave him a well-deserved beating, before returning to the bar to finish his pint.
Everybody in the bar just loved Tony's show of violence, and although he would have liked to stay around to milk the applause even longer, we both had to do a runner, because as Tony rightly says, whilst it was satisfying to get so much hatred out of his system, he didn't want to hang around too long, because there was a decent football match on the television, which he didn't want to miss.