Horse dealing

Was on the way back from the school after dropping off Nairobi. Thinking about life, the past, the future, all that philosophical shite. 

         Then I heard – “Mick?!” But couldn’t see anyone. 

         Then again heard: “MICK!”   

         Next thing he landed around the corner. Wired, in a hurry, like a man that had important news from the front line of the war. Last I heard he was supposed to be dead. There was a big night out. A serious drink. No expense spared when it came to the cheap cans and counterfeit cigarettes. There was even talk of snackboxes for finger food but not sure if that ever materialised. Anyway, wasn’t he here now today? And full of his usual compliments. 

         ‘Are ya looking for a car?’ He asked.

         ‘No. Why?’

         ‘That car you have is an awful lumpa shite.’

         ‘Thanks. Why, what’s up?’

         ‘I have a car for ya.’

         ‘I wasn’t lookin…’

         ‘It’s a BMW. Sport. Red. 05. Six Speed…’


         ‘Diesel. Two Litre.’

         ‘Yeah, I know but…’

         ‘NCT til January next year. It’s worth €2300 but I’ll give it to you cheap. A bargain.’

         ‘It’s only a bargain if I wanted it in the first place.’

         ‘Sure why wouldn’t you want it?’

         ‘I have a car.’

         ‘You call that a car?’

         ‘It gets me around.’

         ‘I wouldn’t give you a tenner for that fuckin thing.’

         ‘I’m not selling it. Sorry to disappoint you.’

         ‘I’m not disappointed. It’s pure scrap. No offence.’

         ‘How much do you want for the Beamer?’


         ‘What? Drachmas?’

         ‘I told you I could get €2300 for it – but because it’s you…’

         ‘Where’d you get it?’

         ‘I have three of them. And a van.’

         ‘Why do you want three Beamers and a van?’

         ‘To sell them. I’m flat out. Will I bring the red one down to show ya?’

         ‘Have you pictures?’


         ‘A link? Is it on DoneDeal?’

         ‘Fuck DoneDeal. Do you want it?’ 

         ‘I had a Beamer before.’

         ‘I bet you loved it.’

         ‘I did. Until the engine blew up.’

         ‘What’s new with you? You’re always blowing up engines. Wasn’t the car’s fault.’


         He took out a pack of the infamous cheap smokes. €5 for twenty if you know the right lad across the road. Lit one up. He was thinner for sure but that was about it. Someone said something about steroids lately.

          He took a long pull, blew smoke into the innocent morning, said: ‘Do you want one of these?’

         ‘No, thanks. You’d probably charge me €1800.’

         ‘For these? No. They’re only worth a fiver. About the same price as your car.’

         ‘Jaysus. Keep the compliments coming. It’s a great start to the day.’

         ‘Call into me later and we’ll do a deal.’

         ‘I’ll probably be busy.’

         ‘It’ll be outside the shop here on the road.’

         ‘I’ll probably need time to think about it at least.’

         ‘It’ll have a professional clean. Pure valet. You won’t know yourself.’

         His phone rang. He looked at it, said: ‘I better go. That’s about a transit in Tipperary. See you later.’



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