“Naw son, he looks like he’s working a nightclub door in Coatbridge and has just realised he’s fuck out of chewing gum and disnae hae enough petrol tae get tae the big Tesco on his way hame. He’s a bam who hit the big time when he realised he could use the laminator his mum got for Brownies tae fake IDs and leveraged that intae working security because he could spot them. Ah’ve met bulldugs, and ah’ve met wasps, and there’s no a fucking mandible o’ work in that potato countenance. If you were the kind of useless cunt who had a dictionary with pictures in it his wid be the face that’d glare at you fae the words ‘sullen’ and ‘prick who cheats when he plays X-Box with his wee cousin’. He’s the kind of joyless fuck who makes it crystal clear that money can’t buy happiness even if every story you tell about how you acquired that money replaces every instance of ‘defraud’ or ‘exploit’ with some improbable anecdote of derring-do or ‘aw shucks’ market manipulation. He’s the flustered avatar of mild criminality made big, and he’d be the fucking poster child for GRIFTER DOG CATCHES A CADILLAC if some oval roaster wasn’t fast becoming the least trustworthy government mandarin.”
: Kimble
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