A man in a too-tight cardigan is walking along the road when he sees a scruffy looking gent lying on his side in the gutter clutching his chest with his left hand. Cardigan man bends down and asks the man what’s wrong.
Gasping, the man scrawls on a pad on the pavement beside him and tears off a piece of paper which he thrusts toward cardigan man.
Written on the paper is this: ‘I can’t speak. I need my heart pills. Their over theyre in that bag by the wall’
Cardigan man shakes his head. “This won’t do at all,” he mutters in disgust as he corrects the man’s spelling mistakes.
The man in the gutter desperately writes on the pad again.
‘Please. NOW! I should of taken them this morning.’
Cardigan man is outraged. He takes out a pen and strikes through the note.
“IT’S NOT SHOULD OF,” he shouts. “IT’S SHOULD HAVE.”
But the man in the gutter doesn’t hear cardigan man’s words; he’s dead.