It's like a fucking boat, Tommy. Full of heavy cargo, like coal or iron. Sometimes it slips to one end. And the boat tips. I can feel it slipping. And I can feel the boat tipping. But there ain't nothing I can do about it. It's like me fuckin' head's just like this fuckin' black fucking barge! And it just fucking drifts in and out, in and out.
— You fixing races now? Do you have permission from Billy Kimber to be fixing races, hm? Then what's got into you? You think we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber. Billy's got a bloody army!
— I think, Arthur. That's what I do. I think, so that you don't have to.
— That was a punch. What's he got, horseshoes in those gloves, or what?
— Nope. Just his dad's strength and his mother's temper.
— I thought you were off the whisky, Arthur.
— Yeah, I am. I'm having a couple now and again to remind myself why I don't drink it.
— I wouldn't know what to do.
— You've spent two-thirds of your life in pubs. Just pour it instead of drinking it.
— But I can still drink it, right?
— Your pub — you do what you want.
— Kids these days.
— They didn't fight. So they're different. They stay kids.
— That smell. I'll miss it.
— What, the shit house?
— Nah. I don't know what it is. Birmingham, I suppose. Small Heath. That smell.
— The smell brings it back.
— Where's John, do you think, Tom?
— Fuck knows.
— He's gone, though, like a hole behind your head.
— I thought you thought there was a heaven.
— No. More like hell for our John.
— Nah, neither one. He's just not here any more. It's like with Grace. Arthur... they're just gone. Just fucking gone.
— Well, at least you're going to get what you've always wanted.
— And what's that?
— Well, you tried to hang yourself twice. Now the King is gonna do it for you.
— I've been a fucking idiot. I haven't appreciated nothing, John.
— Are you fucking repenting or something?
— Drawing. I used to be good at drawing.
— Arthur, please, for God's sake, I don't need this.
— I should have listened more in class.
— What fucking class? You were never there.
— I used to draw horses. Stallions. Great big ones. They looked real. I should have done more with me life, John. Good things. Even Ada said it wasn't my fault.
— Arthur, will you listen? They're not gonna hang you.
— Says who?
— Tommy.
— And how is Houdini gonna get me out of this?
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