At least I’m just one of a bunch of
strangers here. Some of the types he spotted on arrival gave him a sense of
security - long- hairs, mod-geared girls, leather-jacketed youths carrying
helmets decorated with Nazi insignia. His types. Ones he could communicate with
again. Not old lags, not county folk, definitely not up-tights. His types were
a minority, although outstanding in a sense .... Plaistow hadn’t
altered much in his absence. Taken in small doses it stank. In large, it became
a cesspool from which only the dead escaped and the living fought to eke-out a
somewhat stereotyped existence. Here was an in-betweenness which was composed
of gossip, wife-beating, husband-cruelty and all that small-mindedness
entailed. Joe stood at the
Greengage and breathed in the polluted air. It was wonderful ...
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