A tattooed giant stepped in his way, body-odour wafting, knife waving. “Give me your wallet,” he snarled.
Alan looked at the man, nodded and pulled out his pockets. “Don’t have a wallet,” he murmured. Check my back pockets.” He turned around.
’S’that all you got?”
“Huh-huh.”
“For chrissake.” The mugger took a fiver out of his pocket. “Here you are, now b***er off.”