Far back as recollection went he’d been sticking his nose into good business and turning it to shite. He were one of that sort, see. I reckon there’s one of em in every town. Like as not more than one, but one at a time is all you ever gets lumbered with. Which is a blessing, I reckon. But it didn’t make Finney any less of a cunt. Thing about them types of folks is they always means well. He wants to help you, cos he’s your pal. But it never turns out that way do it. Folks like Finney’ll always fuck it up in the end. Their hearts is full of goodness, but their heads is full of shite. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Don’t matter what your business is. Don’t matter how hard you tries to keep him out of it. He’ll always shoot your pigeon out of the sky and land him in the muck heap. Mind you, life’s made of such challenges. Things’d get too dull without em. That’s one way of looking at it anyhow. But Finney were still a cunt. ‘You fellers all right over there?’ ‘Aye, Nathan.’ Fin waved with his pint arm, slopping beer across the table.
