Aubrey and the garage roof

Aubrey is replacing the roof of my garage. I am afraid he will inhale dust from the cracked asbestos/cement corrugated roofpieces, get critically ill, and sue me for all I have.

In order to escape the awesome scene of incipient asbestosis, I escape downtown, eat beef stew and dumplings with an acetic Portuguese red, and observe a classic triad at the table in the corner. Two guys, one of some bulk but with a tiny squashed-in nose, the other short, swarthy, with a long black single plait. They alternate between over-friendliness and provocative two-bit hostility, in the way that only committed drunks do. And a woman, skin ravaged by unknown excesses of her own, dressed in standard-issue chavwear - she gazes silently and emotionlessly at each of the roughnecks in turn until it is time for the fag which she clamps between her chapped lips and steps outside in order to be smoked by. The two guys follow her out. The swarthy one makes a big show of rearranging their chairs and - yuck! why? - the chair opposite me muttering '...gotta show respect...'

When I return home, Aubrey is - thank God! - still alive, though breathing heavily. I make him some tea and toast and honey, so the courts will be forced to acknowledge that I am a kindly soul incapable of putting Aubrey knowingly in harms' way.