That was Frank, it had to be.
He was drinking coffee and getting a neck massage.
He didn't look too bad.
He had that stranded on an island look.
Some might call him a beachcomber.
His hair was matted, but in a fashionably salt licked way.
He was in his late forties, a big guy, part rock solid, other part flab.
Though he might have been a professional bum, he was eating well.
'Can't complain,' he said as he gave me a strong handshake.
He was a spitting image of his brother Jack.
I really couldn't tell the difference between them.
'Fuck, you are a spitting image of me too mate,' said Frank, who winked at me.
I was Frank Russel after all, so I better start behaving like him.
'Nice to meet you,' I said.
'Fuck, ease up Chris, I only wanted a massage, not a fucken broken neck.'
Chris just smiled, he was missing a few teeth. I could tell he had put Frank under his street-smart wings, showing him the ropes of Manila Bay. And without Chris around, I'm sure Frank wouldn't have faired so well.
'That's just bullshit,' said Frank.
There was a lot of it around, I said. And that North America way, writer's were glorifying your misdeeds.
'Like fucking who?' said Frank, a little bit prickly.
I had to think, did I want to expose the writers?
I didn't think much before I blurted out, 'Steve Cartwright, Jake Needham and Christopher Zisi.'
Frank thumped me hard on the back and said welcome to Manila Bay.
Seemed he was touched by the fact that anyone would bother writing about him.
He was drinking coffee and getting a neck massage.
He didn't look too bad.
He had that stranded on an island look.
Some might call him a beachcomber.
His hair was matted, but in a fashionably salt licked way.
He was in his late forties, a big guy, part rock solid, other part flab.
Though he might have been a professional bum, he was eating well.
'Can't complain,' he said as he gave me a strong handshake.
He was a spitting image of his brother Jack.
I really couldn't tell the difference between them.
'Fuck, you are a spitting image of me too mate,' said Frank, who winked at me.
I was Frank Russel after all, so I better start behaving like him.
'Nice to meet you,' I said.
The massage guy, who went by the name of Chris, was twisting Frank's neck more violently than he should, then I heard a cracking sound, cartilage colliding on cartilage.
'Fuck, ease up Chris, I only wanted a massage, not a fucken broken neck.'
Chris just smiled, he was missing a few teeth. I could tell he had put Frank under his street-smart wings, showing him the ropes of Manila Bay. And without Chris around, I'm sure Frank wouldn't have faired so well.
'That's just bullshit,' said Frank.
There was a lot of it around, I said. And that North America way, writer's were glorifying your misdeeds.
'Like fucking who?' said Frank, a little bit prickly.
I had to think, did I want to expose the writers?
I didn't think much before I blurted out, 'Steve Cartwright, Jake Needham and Christopher Zisi.'
Frank thumped me hard on the back and said welcome to Manila Bay.
Seemed he was touched by the fact that anyone would bother writing about him.
