Tramp Chronicles: Irish Tramp, what on earth?

Who was this old Irish tramp? Why did he keep calling Albert, Davie? Better still why did Albert have it? The last question was the most perplexing to Albert, although he didn’t like to blow his own trumpet he was a grime Lord and no one fucked with him and got away with it. Although this might seem like a minor annoyance to a normal person Albert had abducted people’s kids for less, he had a rep and this would simply not do.
As he sat down on the bench thinking about what had just happened he felt the urge to punch wheelchair guy in the face, he fulfilled this urge and knocked out another one of his front teeth. Wheel chair guy spat the blood out of his mouth, thankful that he had managed to stay in his chair this time, because trying to crawl back into your wheel chair with one arm and limited legs is a bitch. Albert seemed to be having another one of his turns so wheel chair guy and mad Scottish tramp fucked off.

Albert didn’t remember much of his meeting with that Irish tramp, but he felt different his superhuman tramp capabilities seemed to be enhanced. Also there was a yearning for something, something he could not quite put his special brew smelling finger on. He needed some answers so he set off to find this Irish tramp. Albert didn’t think that this would be a problem as this was his manor and he could find anyone that was out on road. At this time of the morning the streets were his, it was nice and quiet, the perfect conditions for disposing of an unsuspecting old tramp.

Baffled again. Albert try as he might could not locate this old tramp. He was just beginning to doubt himself when he heard that mocking old voice with an Irish accent saying ‘Davie’ directly behind him. Even Albert was in awe at the stench of this guy’s breath and for the first time in the longest while Albert experienced a shiver down his spine. No one crept up on Albert. But here was this old Irish Tramp standing down wind from him stinking of piss and smiling a toothless smile. Albert reacted from fear for the first time in his life and tried to bore the Irish tramp in his neck with his rusty fingernails. The tramp seemed to disappear but from nowhere he was behind him again. This time he was laughing Ah Ha HA Ha Ha Ha………. ‘You’ve got potential Davie there’s a war comin an you’ve got works to do!’ The Irish guy was gone and Albert looked at his can of special brew for answers; war? Potential? Works? Albert had never completed a days ‘work’ in his life.. The only thing that he knew for certain was that getting rid of this old Irish bastard would be a lot harder than anticipated.