“Let me finish my sentence …” I said in vain.
In his canteen confessional booth, Call Centre Tony was on a rant. He went from criminals to asylum seekers within a blink of an eye, and back again, “I’d put the lot of them in jail for 15 years. There are no excuses. If you want a video – buy your own – don’t rob an old woman. Throw away the key on the lot of them. You’re on crack? Not interested. It’s your own look out. Stay out of my house. Come anywhere near my stereo and I should have the right to stove your head in. There is NO excuse. None.” His finger was jabbing at me as he spoke.
We only usually get this heated when we are discussing the relative merits of the Minogue sisters.
I went back to my desk a bit exhausted from the argument.
I took out my headset from its velvet-lined box and plugged myself in for the afternoon. I chalked another day into my diary and looked out to watch people enjoying the sunshine on benches outside the local bar.
Let me finish my sentence.