e plus anoty per cent in London. It ill packed, even at four in t  favorite people: fucking art students. I mean, Jess  it still came as a ss, and moustacs of tattoos and plastic s  Buso bomb Iraq, and I like a toke as muc guy, but till fill my  ly because I kno o in front of a croo ime. t like real music, t like temptations or ts; tupid fucking bleeps. Or else tend t tas, and listen to  hos and guns.

    So I -go. I  I o get into a fig t fig: Id be defending eitin or Maureen from tee, or some ac it never  Martin in  and an, and   Maureen in  and sensible s in. traig t there.

    Martin and V  Underground. Me, I s, a leat and an old Gitanes t-s, and I felt like a fucking freak.

    t t made me t o break someones nose. Martin anding traig of a bottle, and tarted staring at him.

    Martin S telly! I y, and it  occurred to me t o a party ins face is like o a party naked: even arts students tend to take notice. But ted traigion.

    Oh, yeah! Good call! his buddy said.

    Oi, Sin smiled at tly.

    People must say t to you all time, one of them said.

    ? You know. Oi, S.

    ell, yes, said Martin. they do.

    Bad luck, tV, you end up looking like t cunt.

    Martin gave t-can-you-do surned back to me.

    You OK? ts life,  me. o give an old clich.

    Maureen, mean ty-goers as if s Diane Arbus pos projected fifty feet wide on an Imax screen.

    You  a drink? heres Jess? Looking for Chas.

    And then can we go? Sure.

    Good.