"I AM the pool table king!"
Today, he's nursing his head, but somehow retains that polarising arrogance.
11 am: the pool hall doors burst open.
Light permeates the low-ceilinged, sticky-carpeted den, silhouetting another regular, Ian, with his cue and what looks like his mini-me.
Ian immediately challenges Jimmy,
"My cousin, Leon: he's 12; put your money where your mouth is, doucheball."
Two hours and £440 lighter, the kid's destroyed Jimmy.
With his very last tenner, Jimmy asks, "Ian, Leon: whatcha drinking?", salvaging any last vestige of dignity.
