Mr. Malone- Day 1

 Author's note: Read this in a British accent

I write this chronicle to inform you of the nonsense that went on the day I met Jamal. The feats that occurred upon the date I now curse may be hard to fathom, but I assure you, I shall tell no lie.
'Twas a typical day for an Britt-turned American living in the Forest Hill Gardens of Queens. When I awoke, I prepared for my prestigious golf tournament with my fellows from the country club. After a brunch, prepared by Mary, my maid, I walked out the door, clean shaven. On the way to the limo, I picked up my newly polished clubs from Niles, my butler.
"How is my dearest Bessie today? Has she got a good shine?"
"Yes, sir. I even used your favorite scent--freshly pressed Indonesian linen."
"A job well done, Niles"
"Thank you, sir"
O how Jubilant I get when I see a freshly polished Bessie. But alas, the good start to the morning would not remain. It turned out my limo had broken down. It seemed as though my only option was public transportation. I cringe at the sound. Gathering my belongings, I started the long walk to the subway in the downtown.
The walk there was not pleasant, not pleasant at all. Juvenile young things kept a' thumpin’ and a' bumpin’ me. I saw many hobos in the park, and many screaming young children. When I finally arrived, I got very lucky; I was the only one in my subway car. But then it seemed my luck had run out, because in walked the most juvenile of them all. Instead of avoid him, like I would have done before my "Poor people have feelings, too" seminar, I decided to take the friendly approach and make small chat.
“So, do you golf?"
He didn't respond, but it must have been because he smelled something repugnant, because he made a very peculiar face at that moment. So I started telling him about my clubs, and before I knew it, it had been half an hour. I could go on for days about my beloved Bessie. The man I was conversing with picked up something dirty from the floor, a book, probably of the "for dummies" collection. He started mumbling something, but I wasn't listening to the words, I was still astonished he could read. All of a sudden I heard a ruckus. Everything around me went dark. When things came back into reality, the other man in the subway car had stepped into bear dung. Typical. We were in a vast valley, nowhere near the golf tournament, and by the look on the other man's face, he didn't seem to know where we were either. So, the masculine man I am, I decided to take the leadership role and guide us to civilization. I looked towards the other man.
"Hey, do ya think this stuff’ll come off if I rub my foot on the tree?"
God help us all.