A short, powerful looking white man in his late twenties sat on the park bench uncomfortably closely to Ellie.
“As you know, love, my sister's worked in Tesco for years, and they don't 'ave 'alf the weirdos we 'ave in soddin' Boots.”
“'Ere,” said Jean, the over-painted crone on the make-up counter in Boots to her rapidly disintegrating septuagenarian colleague. “Did you see what I just saw?”
Doug headed up the market and turned down a little side street that led to a couple of small leather factories, the Age Concern offices and his favourite pub, the Wagon and Horses.