Once upon a flam, Claude McFooter feasted. But he had taken it too far. There had been golden days. Golden and gilded days when Claude McFooter had everything from a family to an ear stud. Both had become infected. Now, here he was. Alone. Picking at a flam and stuck on the forward to Crime and Punishment.

He expelled a groan that made him sound like an airplane toilet being flushed. Then, he stared out of the window. “There goes Roger”, he whispered under his breath. And it was true; there did go Roger.

He put down the book. Maybe Crime and Punishment wasn’t the best way to learn Swahili. Anyhow, today was Saturday and that meant it was time for the ponies. He gradually made his way to the gamblers shop. How well he had come to know the streets of Podge Lemon. And how well they had come to ignore him. As he approached the gamblers shop, he saw Don Chloe inside smashing up a slot machine.

“There goes Don Chloe again,” he whispered to himself. “All is right and well in the world. Except me. Who cares for me? I am a soft soul – if only they could know it. Maybe one day I’ll be liked and my parents won’t think of me as rash or vermin. One can dream, can’t they? It is a man’s right to dream, isn’t it?”

But, if truth be told, it isn’t. And to throw salt on the wounds, today was not his day. Don Chloe was extra mad and launched the slot machine through the gambling shop window to prove it. It landed on Claude’s foot, and he had to have the foot removed. But it wasn’t all bad. It was only a foot and he still had time to make it back on the ponies. But it was a bad steed. It was a losing steed. It was a let-down steed. And as his steed crossed the line in last place, he started to whimper.

“Goddam this steed and this goddam this world,” he whispered to himself. Don Chloe patted him on the back and nearly took the wind out of him.

“Don’t count your losses, count your wins,” said Don Chloe.

“What wins?” replied Claude.

Don Chloe shrugged.

Gradually, Claude hopped home in a state of typical despair. He couldn’t shake the self-pity, so he picked at some flam and licked his stumpy wound. Eventually, he came to like it, and some would even say that it suited him (especially when he had a hat on too).

He picked up Crime and Punishment and opened it to the forward. It made no sense to him. He stared out of the window and a pensive look crossed his face.

“Next week, we go again,” he whispered to himself, full of pride and extraordinary courage.