Out of old habit he still snaps his fingers at you -- but then stops immediately…

"Make way for the master poet!" He greets you with a nod.

"Still here, stuck in this damn jam, my man." The man greets you with a smile. "What's up?"

"Hello again, my man." He greets you. "What's on your mind?"

"Welcome back!" He gives you a knowing nod. "The days ain't going by any faster, believe me."

"Cool." [Leave.]

"So how long have you been here?"

"Feels like forever, like I was born on this here roundabout and this was all I ever knew. Just me and the metal and the tyres, the oil and the fumes of mazut..."

Mazut is an antiquated term for heavy fuel oils -- this man has a barely suppressed performative streak. Or he just likes unusual words. Or both!

"I dig your style, man."

"Yeah, imagine -- it's been a whole week already." He snickers.

Behind the laugh, however, a touch of sorrow.

"So, tell me... what do you need?"

"I don't quite understand what you just said."

"Extravagantly phrased -- but I can roll with it."

"Could you say it again, only a little less plodding?"

"Everyone's a critic, man." He waves you off. "It's okay. I've been here a whole week already."

"Back already?" He grins at you.

"Never mind." [Leave.]

"What's going on here?"

"It's the Jam, my man." He motions toward the sprawl of lorries with a sweeping gesture.

The air from the east is thick with the smell of crude oils, heavy metals and other by-products of the modern era. You can almost taste it.

"What's the Jam?"

"It's a traffic jam for the ages. Harbour gates up the street are shut tight. No explanation given. Workers on strike. Scabs agitatin'. An all-around clusterfuck."

"Meanwhile, we're all stuck here in long haul limbo for days upon days upon days..." He glances south, down the road. "Upon days."

"Limbo, huh? So that's where I am."

"Yeah, yeah -- exactly."

It's official. He too agrees. This is the antechamber of the afterlife.

"I am the law."

"You sure are, my man." He nods emphatically.

"Everyone understands you're the law. That's why you have that insignia on your arm. So you don't have to keep saying it."

Keep listening.

"From another... planet," he finishes and turns to you: "Hey there."

"Yes, people get that you are the law. You really don't have to keep saying it."

"I am a gander and a hunter and a gatherer, feel like a traveller..." The man mutters to himself, accenting the beats as he goes.

A simple little cadence. He seems to be making it up as he goes.

"My man, you're alive!" He assesses the situation. "Almost... kind of... sort of alive."

"It hurts like hell, man."

"Man, what a day... I missed out on most of the action, but I heard it was quite the encounter." He nods thoughtfully. "Had a strong sense of finality to it."

"So what's next? You headin' back to Jamrock now? Talk is local Union muscle were behind it all, I'd reckon the case is closed... even if it kinda turned into a shitshow."

"It wasn't the local Union muscle, by the way."

"Hey, that's just what I heard. Old wives' tale. So -- what next?"

"I'm still looking around. Loose threads to tie up."

"Good luck with that, my man. Ain't easy being you, but hey, you're still breathin', right?"

"I'll be heading off then." [Leave.]

"By the way, you're not angry with me anymore?"

"Fuck it," he shrugs. "I'm a bad guy now. There's things more important than holding a grudge. It's okay -- you've been through enough."

"We are what we are. And you're a cop."

"Right. A few questions before I go."

"Shoot." He pauses, then chuckles all of a sudden. "Sorry man, didn't mean it like that. Ask away."

"Yeah, the case seems kind of done. Gonna check on a few last things."

"Alive and limping."

"I've been better."

"Oh look..." As you approach he instinctively averts his eyes. "It's the cop who turned me into a bad person."

"I... uh... saw you poking around in lady driver's lorry. She in trouble?"

"Sorry, man. I can't disclose the facts of an official investigation to you."

"It's that bad?" He lets out a whistle, looking about ten years older suddenly. "Man, what should I do... what should I do to help her?"

"No need for you to do anything, don't worry. The police are looking into it."

"Yeah, maybe I should just keep my head down... and work on my rhymes while I can."

"Why Tommy Le Homme?"

"Tommy L'Homme was taken." He shrugs in a what-can-you-do manner. "My real name is Jerry Lefitte -- Tommy's way better."