A bare room in the bus depot and I sit on a bench Standing in front of me is a bored teenager No more than seventeen He wears a military uniform He's playing a game with no words Listening carefully to music on his iPod He casually waves a loaded rifle round the room Pointing it first at a wall Then straight into my face Then out of the window Targeting a succession of passers by When I was his age and drunk on holiday in Italy Me and some local lads got into an argument with the police It grew heated One of the lads hit a young cop We all ran away, laughing Suddenly Bullets from an automatic began thudding into the wall above our heads I dived through a doorway A whole family, sitting around their dinner table, mid meal Glanced up to see me, a mad Englishman Sauntering drunkenly past them through their kitchen and away Years later, touring America with a couple of punk bands A cop stopped us after midnight on a beach somewhere in Los Angeles He told us to take our hands out of our pockets When I didn't, he pulled out a gun and stuck it against my head I got angry, or is arrogant a better word? Anyway, I refused, saying I'm English and I'm not used to cops with guns Ask me nicely Take your f###ing hands out of your f###ing pockets now! He said Motionless, I stared back at him Just do it, Nick Said my friends So I shrugged and held up my hands Turning to the others, the cop told them I didn't know if he had a gun I wasn't gonna wait and see Then, addressing me, he added You're lucky I was counting to five before pulling the trigger I'd got to four and a half I'd got to four and a half