I don’t know what time you are reading this but right at this moment, as I bang this, there is a fresh-faced Form one sitting on his new unfamiliar bed sipping strong tea, his uniform still rigor-mortised from the …
The cop who flags me down, the traffic cop who later leans into my window, has a face that isn’t in the mood for folk and dance. And he has eyes that have been bled off sympathy. Think Judge …
