chelseyflood

I'm waiting for the coach home at Victoria Station when a tall, thin, goat-faced man with brown skin and dreadlocks stands in front of me, and looking down at me through his sunglasses says: "Sister, I want to go to Falmouth, I've got my ticket right here..." He talks loudly in a hoarse, french-tinted voice. People look at him with distrust. He smells like the dirty kid at school has been up all night drinking gin.