| Quickie competition: Leg over |
Brett Beiles
My ballie said he’d wait in the car.
I struggled one step at a time to her flat on the third floor. She answered the door kaalgat, so straight away I took everything off myself.
“Slow down, steamer,” she said, “bucks up front-five hundred.”
“You tuned three-fifty on the phone.”
“It’s extra for peg-legs. You scheme I smaak checking your ugly stump!”
“Fuck you, you said three-fifty.”
“Fok jou ook,” and she threw my leg out the window. “Go fetch!”
Shit, I had to slide on my arse all the way downstairs.
The ballie was standing there, holding my leg. It had smashed a headlight of his car. “What the hell!”
“Sorry pa, can you borrow me one-fifty?”
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