Friday, 8pm. A bus stop in Brixton.
George has so far this evening enjoyed three craft ales: she is lubed up but by no means langered, and is on the phone to Will.
Enter, stage right, a villain. The villain is an older gentlemen with white curling hair, a Barbour jacket and a flat cap. In some ways he looks a little like Terry Terry but he is not Terry Terry, he is a villain.
George, chatting lightly on the phone, attempts to board a bus. The villain, purposefully and with full intent and malice, elbows her in the boob (right).
Villain (sneering): Yeah, woah.
Will (on the phone): What’s happened?
George: An old man just elbowed me in the boob.
George (louder, with intent to shame): An old man just elbowed me in the boob!
The villain leans forward and says, sotto voice: I may be old darlin’, but you look like a gorilla. And I’m going to have you killed.
George, bold and unafraid: You! Are a moron.
George boards the bus and rides it gaily home. If he’d said she looked like an orang-outang she may have taken his threat more seriously.
George does not look like a gorilla. The man was a fool.