175
Kevin came out of the super market with a heavy bag in either
hand. The green gorcer's next door was not doing any business today:
the window had been smashed and broken glass lay amongst the boxes
of oranges and apples and carrots. The shop had been looted after
the window was broken. Split bananas and squashed tomatoes mingled
with s the shiny splinters on the floor. He walked on, came to
the newsagents' and tobacconists'. Another shattered window, already
boarded up. There had been rioting for several hours the previous night. A bunch of teenagers had taken on an army patrol.He had lain awake listening to it, wondering if any minute they would have to get up and dress and leave their home for some safer place. Rubber bullets lay in
the gutter and at the side of the pavement. He kicked one aside
with his foot.
He looked out acros the street at the barbed-wire barricades, a
burnt-out bus turned over on its side, two armoured cars parked close
together with half a dozen soldiers near by, guns held at the ready.
Chaos and destruction. He s was sick, of it. Sick of it.
He went oncontinued through the streets towards his own one, skirting
patches of pavement where the paving stones had been lifted. He
stepped back to let a horde of small screaming children to pass.
They brandished home-made guns adn pieces of stick high in the xxxx
air. Whooping and yelling, on they went. Yelling for blood.
As he reached the scrapyard he looked sideways through the open
gate. Mr Kelly was there sifting through junk. Hex glanced up
at Kevin.
"Hey, Kevin!"
Kevin stopped.
