Donny lived all alone in Ipswich, Suffolk, with his
father and his uncle, Bert and Milt. They all lived
above a restaurant which was always open and
popular. Bert actually owned the place, but Milt, he
was the landlord. So they all lived together, yet
Donny was getting a little pissed off with Bert,
thinking he was becoming a control freak. He would
always snap at him about carrying a knife or other
weapon when he came outside, saying the streets
were dangerous and look what happened to his
other uncle. So reluctantly Donny carried the knife
everywhere with him although he'd chuck it in the
dustbin if he heard sirens in the distance.
And there were a lot of sirens in Ipswich. One would
hear at least ten major crimes a day - muggings,
lootings, vandals.
Finally, defence arrived in the form of Bert's liver.
His overdrinking down at the restaurant and the pub
was taking its toll on the man. That, and the fact
that extremely violent riots seemed to have started
unprovocatively in London - all round the center,
round the Palace, as a matter of fact. Angry crowds
fisting each other and lashing out with feet at faces
- armed and visored police marching through the
City - the last riots had been in the 60s.
And so Donny pondered the cause of the riots but
all he could find was that it was prompted by the
Prime Minister refusing to send his homies support
in the Middle East where he was launching an
invasion.
'So, what's new?'
Donny muttered and stuck up his finger at the Prime
Minister on TV when he was making a report on the
News.
'Donny!' his father said. Just then his uncle, Milt,
came in with a shopping bag full of food. Now
Donny was an overeater, not grossly overweight, but
overweight. He was a binge eater. He'd eat two
hamburgers a day easily. No way he'd ever run a
marathon.
Not that he ever wanted to.
Milt saw Donny insulting the Prime Minister and
Donny and his uncle derived in politics - Milt was a
straight-up Conservative while Donny was a Labour;
they tended to clash. And this was somehow the
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