»All you punks and all you teds

Rolled up to the house after a test run on a freshly-tuned Dutchess, and a grungy bearded man was sitting on the stoop, drinking from a 40 and eyeing a bicycle leaned up against the house.
No, it wasn't Aram; it was a ruddy-faced man, grey and dirty, who was doing pretty much as Aram or I might: sitting on the stoop, knocking back a beer, and working on a bike.
In fact, when I first sped past the house I thought he had stopped because of bike problems -- perhaps he saw the sprocket charm on the threshold? -- and I pulled over to ask: "Is everything OK?" but he said, "I'm painting my bike." Even as I asked I knew that he was a bum, and the belligerent tone in his answer bespoke that.
I suggested that he move on -- I needed to get past him just to get into the house -- and he began a mock-polite argument. He ended up taking his gold paint pen to the house next door, yelling at me that I couldn't push him away from the neighbour's as well, could I?