Coffee pours into a glass like oil slick. A trembling hand seizes it as if it were a necessity. Jamal 'The Jackal' Jones is born again in a house just short of Dalston. Patherine Polish eyes watch silently as the tarot's are laid out.
'This is not your future' says the German. 'This is what is and what has been'. He did his utmost at convincing but Germans cant carry off spiritualism with such a tongue. Jamal told him so.
A great white caucasian glides dirty denimed past the window and his gaze remains for a few violent moments. Jamal remains calm. The German, calmer still.
'Provoke me and awaken the wrath of God' remarks Jamal in a moment of veiled frenzy. The sword of Islam hangs flaccid at his side.
'I was born into war my friend', as the death card flips over.
'This is positive', rasps the German, not fooling anybody.
'Our time is over' says Jamal 'The Jackal' Jones as he disappears out the door from the German forever.
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