BITCH A MINUTE

As we came through the top outer entrance door a young white man, on each forearm a tattoo looked like one was a big cat leapiing, followed us.
I stopped and turned my head said, ‘you live here?’
‘Er, no,’ he said, ‘I’ve come to see a friend.’
‘You try the buzzer?’ I said, nodding toward where the entry phone was.
‘I have but he’s not answering...’
‘How do you know he’s in?’
‘I know he is, he lives on the eighth floor.’
‘Okay, okay,’ I said and he held the door for me.
When the lift door closed after he’d got out on the eighth she said, ‘I think he was quite shaken, what you said shook him up, it did.’
‘You think I ruined his day?’
‘No, he’ll bitch a minute with his friend then forget about it.’