Summary
THE vagrant shuffled down the lane between the big shops in his ill-fitting training shoes, his sly eyes darting, left and right, as keen as a rat, in his search for the fresh, fat cigarette butts, tossed away by careless, pouting girls with high-pitched curses, screeching halloos - and bare, rippling tummies, the colour of gravy- browning.
He swooped and pocketed, as though no-one could see him, until he had gathered enough in his blue donkey jacket for the breaking and shredding, the twirling and licking, into a Rizla paper and then there was a long, throat-scraping smoke, before he released a blue cloud into the damp air. "Ah, " he said, as he rested his sparse backside on one of those walls built around a sickly tree, which had been planted there some years ago by the local council as part of its drive to make the town greener.See the full content of this document
Extract
David Charters: Liberty Is Their Lasting Gift to Us
Now the sad tree was drooping outside the store where nothing, absolutely nothing, costs more than a pound, and the assistant at the cash-desk was wearing a Santa hat to further cheer the shoppers. And...
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