Influx

"What would you do with that?" the delivery man asked as he nodded his raisin-head over towards an approaching woman. Stockton had a glint in his eye, and began grinning.
"I'd damage it," he said, irony galloping out of his mouth like a herd of wild horses.
"Yeah," the delivery man said, acknowledging Stockton's filth. "These guys are alright."
Suddenly we were in fellowship with this lust-crazed loon. Stockton had begun lifting the boxes from the lorry, still grinning wildly.
"Hey, I'd do seven years," the delivery man said suddenly. "I'd do seven years at Her Majesty's bed and breakfast." At this I couldn't control myself and burst out laughing. The woman had now reached our location.
"What are you guys talking about," she asked in a thick Eastern European accent.
"Just how beautiful you are," the delivery man sleazed. Stockton began laughing now. But the girl began flirting with the violent man as he began talking about his "waggon".
Good God, I'm not cut out for this behaviour. I was torn between hilarity and a deep sickness. There was a violence in the air that made me uncomfortable. I was back in the Seventies, when Benny Hill was considered funny, and not in the slightest bit sinister. Stockton's mirth, however, was contagious - the whole scene had the feeling of a subversive victory.
I dread the next delivery...