It was a bitter pill to swallow an’ no mistake; instead of my head hittin’ the pillow I was out of my pit and hitting the street, pullin’ my collar up around my lords an’ peers an’ headin’ for the carriage.
Wasn’t my idea, but the guv had a thirst for claret. Said it was his last chance to hear the city weep in sweet sorrow, or summink like that.
Still, at least he ‘ad grapes.
I loved grapes, loved rolling ‘em around my mouth before I bit down an’ sucked the soft fruit out of their skins. Can’t afford ‘em normally. He’d give ‘em to the whores wouldn’t he? Entice ‘em into the carriage so’s to take ‘em to an alley somewhere quiet an’ gut them.
He never minded, him.
Never minded me picking up the grapes after, washing ‘em off in the snow.
Waste not want not, eh?