A White Christmas

Two years ago, me and Michael went to find stuff in the rubbish outside the big supermarket not far Halleluja Villas. Michael was riding his swanky self-built mountain bike; when we got to the Sainsubry skip he took some pictures of me next to the rubbish with his digital camera.

As he was doing this I noticed somebody coming in our direction. He was black, and
had a bag. It was around midnight.
I was sure he's the security guy, as security guards in London are almost always black.

"So what do we have here?"
(me) nothing.
(michael) taking pictures for old times sake.

Two many cameras around as it is if you ask me. Well you'll excuse me but
I'm going to look for food here.

Oh (sigh of relief from both of us) that's the reason we're here too.
Ah (he doesn't believe us).

we start going through the plastic bags, the skip is absolutely filled with
stuff. i find some bananas and offer him.
You touch it, you take it, he says, that's how it goes. I have a feeling
you're not entirely honest with me. Who are you really? What are you doing
here?
We're just looking for food, i say.
he's still suspicious.
I'm michael, says michael.
Well I'm Mr Christmas Lavan. No jokes, please, I've heard them all. Born in
Paris, parents from Jamaica, grew up and live in London.

The loot was pretty miserable - just some bread and a few fruits. Me and michael decided to head back home.

See you around, michael says to Christmas Lavan.
Probably not, says Christmas.

On the way back I tell Michael that I find Mr. Lavan's name is a bit ironic.
Why?
Because Lavan means white in Hebrew.