“Very funny,” ‘e says, “no need for sarcasm. “ Then ‘e leans forward into my face, “How about I cut your bleeding throat?” poste.
“’ow about I cut your balls off?” is my ri-
“Then I will stuff then down your bleeding throat,” ‘e says, “and you’ll choke and die.” At this point the garcon is arriving. The Makhalouf bugger grabs a seat and sits down pretending to be normal. “Two coffees and croissants,” he orders. A few minutes later a middle aged Indian chap with multiple layers of baby fat bulging through his tracksuit arrives and sits at the next table plopping ‘is Nike cap on the next seat. ‘e looks pleased with ‘imself with his chubby face and hair like an oil slick. ‘e signals towards the waiter, “Mochaccino,” ‘e says, with no please or thank you, “and a piece of the New York cheesecakes,” ‘e demands in a thick ac-