With the squeal of tyres and the irregular thud of the god awful music he insists on broadcasting to the world, he shoots past my house. The same as he has done for months now.This has slowly been eating away at my patience, we live on a nice quiet street, I know children won't be playing in the street at this time of night but the infernal racket might wake them.
There is just no need for it.
I march out of the house, down to the Palmer' place, the house he has just left, I ring the bell, knock on the door.
The anger rising in me.
Finally one of them answers, it’s the lad. I have suspected he is on drugs for a while now but the pungent stench of marijuana hangs in the air.
He looks at me through glassy eyes and says "What?"
I close my eyes and let the anger pass for a moment before saying
"Just a polite request, could you ask your friend to maybe drive a bit slower of an evening? Maybe turn the music down a bit? The families on the street sure would appreciate it"
"Don' know what you're on about blud" he says with the accent of a bad boy gangster only a middle classed white youth can achieve.
The anger flares inside me, I lash out, grab him by the throat and snarl " Tell him to slow down, I'm asking nicely"
I shove him back into his house and walk away.
With my back turned he finds some bravery and shouts "You're a dead man"
And something about popping a cap in my ass, it would be worrying if it wasn't for the threat of tears in his voice.
The next night, unsurprisingly, he drives past even faster, the music even louder.
If that’s how they want to play then so be it.
The night after that I'm crouched in the bushes waiting for him to come out. I don't have to wait long, they are creatures of habit.
As soon as I hear the music start up I step out into the middle of the road, blocking his path. He sees me and guns the engine, thinking he can call my bluff.
Wheels spinning, he comes tearing towards me, that’s when I raise the spotlight towards him and turn it on.
Bloke in the shop said it has three million candle power, I don't know what that means but the kid doesn't seem to like it, he swerves and piles into the Jones' Mini with a satisfying crunch.
I stroll over to the wreckage, open the drivers door, grab him by his hair and smash what's left of his face into the steering wheel while saying as calmly as I can.
"I asked you to slow down"
Each word punctuated with another visit to the steering wheel.
I'm not a hero or even a vigilante. I just like hurting people.