Whenever a release date draws near, my thoughts turn to the possibility of rehabilitation. And there is, of course, never a shortage of unsolicited advice from one’s peers. The other night, a gang of us was seated around a bucket of hooch, mulling over our prospects.
A pugnacious “face” from Dartmoor had good news. “Discharge grant’s gone up to ?52. If yer homeless, ?110.”
“Yeh? But the train takes forever to get to London. We’ll have to wait hours before we get the first bag of gear.”
“I heard there was a geezer at the station. Comes dairn specially…
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