It was evening in the
Do Re Mi coffee-bar in Old Compton Street. In the corner stood a juke-box which emitted red and purple
rays like a horror-strip monster; on top of it stood a screen showing three
Italian youths and a girl singing and dancing to the record playing underneath
them. The youths leered over their guitars and the girl took this as her due,
it seemed, wobbling her hips at them. Outside the window the rain splashed
steadily down and rows of teenage legs, plastic mackintoshes and grotesque
hairdos scurried for shelter. Round a table at the back of the cafe three old
friends were judiciously sipping frothy coffees out of transparent beakers.
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