ROUND THE CORNER

He calls me Pete. It’s not my name.
John isn’t my name either. Nor is it Charlie.
There are more names that aren’t than are mine.
I corrected him once but I he mustn’t’ve heard because he called me Pete today.
‘Hello, Pete,’ he said, ‘got a new motor?’
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Yes, I have,’ and wanting to keep talking said, ‘And it’s like yours.’
‘Yes. There’s a man round the corner does a good deal on a service. Better than Bryan Brothers,’ he said.
‘Better than Bryan’s?’ like I’ve been around.
‘They charge something like two-thirty, forty, fifty,’ he said, ‘and he’ll do it for half that.’
‘Not half as good, though, is it?’
‘He’ll come here and take the car then he’ll bring it back when he’s done,’ he said.
‘That’s handy,’ I said and he said, ‘He’s a very handy man, being just round the corner.’