The Severed Streets

Начало книги

London in the summer.

One fine day and don’t the English go mad? Every square of grass suddenly acquires a PA with a sandwich and a book about bondage. Sound seems to carry further. Music and news catch you unawares.

‘Police marching in Trafalgar Square, in advance of the forthcoming vote, chanting they want the right to strike…’

White-legged men in ridiculous shorts. Socks under sandals.

‘In the shadow of that fucking ridiculous-… You know what we need down here? Not an “Olympic Velodrome”! What’s it for now?’

Pimm’s with the sun shining off the pitcher. Furrowed brows are now white lines on pink.

‘Cuts in front-line policing, never mind the specialist units. If the riots continue, if the Summer of Blood arrives, there will be areas where there are riots, where the police will not be able to go!’

In the evenings, crowds spill out of the pubs onto the warm pavement. At six in the evening, you can hear the number drone of cricket scores on the radio.

Читать дальше →