There are three brothers who live on the Estate across the road from me. You rarely see all three together - I think they take it in turns to spend time at Her Majesty's Pleasure. They are black - as in, not mixed-race. Their mother is white, so I can only assume that they are adopted or fostered. They are all really weird looking -small bodies and enormous heads, with mouths chins disproportionately large even for the gargoyle heads. They all walk with an uneven, quasi-limping gait. They are beggars, petty thieves and minor dealers. I took a dislike to them the day, when I refused to give them a cigarette, I was told "I hope you die of cancer."
They are currently unnerving me by being extraordinarily polite and gentlemanly - holding the door open for me to leave the newsagent and other such niceties. And now I'm feeling forced to be not just civil, but gracious.
Why are people so unpredictable?
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