Tramp Chronicles: The Plan, (the beginning)

At this point, Leemo, a man known to most as wheel chair guy wheeled onto the close, even if you couldn’t see him there was no way you could not hear this intermittent panting when he rolled by. This was a very irregular breathing pattern if you ask me but I’m not a doctor, still.
He had the use of one arm and one leg, apparently he suffered a ‘fall’ one day, yet anytime he started talking about this to somebody, he got the ‘hard stare’ off Albert which seemed to stop him mid breath. Truthfully that ‘hard stare’ would stop anyone in their tracks regardless of the subject matter.
Leemo winged it round to the side of the bench and positioned himself next to Albert, he proceeded to reach into the side of his chair with his one good hand and take out some drug paraphernalia; rizla, tobacco and the like. He was old school, so he was still on the small red rizlas and seeing as he only had the use of the one arm, he had developed what some might describe as an invaluable skill. He single handedly constructed a three paper zoot, it wasn’t loose, it wasn’t tight, it was just right, a smokers delight really.
There they sat, on the close, 2 on the bench, one in a chair, drinking and drugging, frightening passers by with their presence alone.
Every now and again mad Scottish tramp would swear under his breath, at nothing in particular, perhaps life on the road was getting him down.
Albert often just nodded his head in agreement but never said much, he would observe everything around him but not in a paranoid way. Albert’s demeanour was over powering and projected the unpredictability of your scarier than average mad man about town. The hours rolled by as the bench began to deform into the angular shapes of their tramp arses. The old Irish geeze from outside the bank came strolling onto the close with a ‘Dick van Dyke come Billy the Kid’ swagger. “Daaaaavie”, he crooned as he looked all three in the eye, “I’ve got an offer for ya, an offer you can’t refuse”
At this point, he was staring at Albert; Albert returned the stare with a blank yet omniscient look on his face. This lasted for a period of time unknown, but it was long enough to remember it was significantly longer than a normal ‘stare down’. The Irish geeze then tipped his hat and spun on his heel, he walked as though he was leaving the close, and without looking back he gestured with his hand for Albert to follow him.
Without saying a word, Albert slowly got up, nodded at his two companions, I imagine that the nod meant ‘stay’ because they didn’t get up to follow him. He had gone after the Irish geeze, marching out of the close, he made a left and the old man tapped on his shoulder.
“Listen Davie, you strong arm having fella you, listen close”. He leaned in, speaking for hours detailing some plan or other to Albert, who just nodded, the man spoke in an animated fashion, taking off his hat drawing figures in the air with it, spinning it around and putting it back on his head. Until finally, Albert gave the big man nod and walked away, this is when he started the bop, the mad man bop, the ‘I might punch you up or I might give you some stolen flowers’ bop. Albert was unpredictable, flagrant, definitive and more alive than ever.