Love in the slow lane

My man comes into my gaff. He doesn't look happy.
"What's the matter?" I ask."
"Don't ask." he says
But I know the only reason he came to see me because he wants me to ask.
"Go on tell me all about it."
"Well you know that Russian girl who was living with me?"
"'Was' living with you? What happened to her?  Where did she go?"
"I kicked her out didn't I."
"Why? I thought you  two were getting on fine."
"We were. She's a right little stunner. She moved in and everything was peachy. We got on fine had a few laughs."
"And.... what went wrong?"
"I came back home from shopping. heard some noise upstairs and there she is in bed with the son of a mate of mine. In MY bed."
"Jeez!"
"She actually waved at me to say hello as if nothing was wrong. So I dragged the little fuck out of MY bed and twatted him. Then kicked him out the house. Then I kicked her out the house."
"Job done then."
"No she's crying and screaming  that she didn't want to leave and she had done nothing wrong. Can you believe that? She didn't think she had done anything wrong. Just a bit of fun. Just a bit of fun? NO that's taking the piss."
"So she's history now then."
"Damned straight she's history. And as for that little twat... I'm having him."
"I thought you already gave him a belting."
"Not enough he ran before I could really sort him out. Teach him some manners. The little fuck. I'll..." he trailed off and looked out the window. I followed his glance and saw his "stunning" Russian girl walking up the road  "Gotta go." he says "looks like there's gonna be trouble." and he runs out the door after her "Martina Martina" he's shouting after her.  She stops, looks round and he catches up with her. Puts his arm round her shoulder and they walk off together. Aint love grand?

Artemis

Artemis, five foot ten, wrapped up in a padded brown jacket red baseball cap and further insulated with a big brown beard. He's standing outside my gaff with all his possessions in a shopping trolley. He's looking for something, riffling through his stuff. He looks up "Gudding morning" he says. "I looking for food." He laughs then stops. I have a pack of three hot cross buns. I show him the pack and offer him one. his hand darts into the pack and he pulls one out. he holds it carefully with both hands, and smells it. "Good" he pronounces. But  he doesn't eat it. he carefully puts it in his pocket for later.
Artemis is Russian. He was born in September 1972 in a  town a few hundred kilometres from Moscow. I can't pronounce the name. he was married then divorced and somehow ended up in Peterborough.
"I am Russian!" he proclaims beating his fists on his chest "Ya Russkiy." He seems quite proud of that fact. Turning back to his trolley he resumes his search. he pulls out a crumpled plastic drinks bottle with a  piece of baking foil pushed into the neck. "my pipe." he explains, keeping it low down and almost out of sight.
With a  swift movement he turns away from the road and ducks down by the wall of my gaff, crouching he flicks his lighter and sucks on the bottom of the crumpled bottle. The bottle fills with smoke and he breathes in deeply.  Just one pull and he puts his "pipe" back in the trolley and covers it up. The effect on him isn't obviously noticeable. But he seems satisfied. He pats his pocket with the Hot Cross bun in it.  The bun is still there.  "I am RUSSIAN." he repeats emphasising Russian. Suddenly he is taller. "Goodbye my friend. I go." and he wheels his shopping trolley down the road.

There's a war going on. Not the one in Syria. Or anywhere else. But right here, unseen. The Russians and the Pakistanis fighting it out for control of the drug world. I don't think Artemis is part of this war, he's too... polite. Mr Charisma the most boring man on the planet walks past. 68 years old and still not a clue. The world carries on around him and he's totally oblivious to everything.