Travels in a Tin Can

the same shell suit as a young girl, growing up in the ghettos of
Wolverhampton. The local crazy was listening to music through headphones,
which for many people is a way of avoiding unwanted conversation.
Unfortunately he also kept randomly talking to people.
We attempted the tactic of studiously ignoring him, but within minutes
his attention settled on us because we made the mistake of sitting directly
opposite him. First he moved to punch us. Well actually he extended his fist
toward us, an action that frightened Emma but that I (ever more in tune with
the youth of today) recognised as the urban-gangland version of shaking
hands. I therefore ‘touched knuckles’ with the local crazy, and Emma sensibly
followed suit. Next the man proffered his headphones to us, saying 'that's
what we’re listening to' (who was 'we', his voices?). We duly listened and
made general sounds of approval. Then he gestured to the man sitting next to
him and remarked that he was his 'homeboy'. We nodded, at the same time
silently praying that we would escape with our lives, and wallet. After a brief
pause the man asked Emma if she was something, but we could not
understand what he was asking - we could not follow much of what he said -
so she just gave a non-committal head bob. Emma later told me she thought
he had either asked if she was 'loco', a whore or a homeboy. Apparently all
things that she was happy to nod to.
The classic comment that he made was addressed directly to me
however when he said: 'Always respect. Anyone messes with you, I'll be
there'.
He then called me 'dog' and left the bus. We were so relieved that he had
remained amicable through the whole encounter and shared a smile with his