me a chance to do further re-con on the local civvies. I check my phone: no messages. I order a beer and sit in the corner, observing the patrons. After a few hours I go out into the cold, baleful street, the winter wind biting my stubble. My discovery upon returning to my perfectly parked Fiesta horrifies me. I see a pair of gutless, hooded vandals run away from my car; crudely scrawled insults cover the imperial-blue-pearl paintwork. I give chase, attempting to remain composed, as they scuttle, laughing, out of my sight. I run harder than when I came fourth in the cross-country race during sixth form. My lungs burn as I try to
catch a glimpse of them again. But it’s hopeless.They’re gone.
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