They won't have war. These people'll stop it. Girl in the yellow jeans. The round-collared jacket. The one using the Rizla.
Coffee arrives in the national consciousness like a post-war automobile, desirable shining.
The stuff gives the heart a hit into overdrive but when you're young you don't notice. Not at all. At the front, overlooking the street, the fifth form trying it with no money have one tea between six and eagerness like a rainstorm. Can cope with poetry, the bomb and the Beatles. All this'll slide apart when commerce demolishes the walls and inflates Timothy Whites from small sensible next door into a vast Boots, grown enormously beyond pharmacy, spread from the JD delivery lane to Frederick Street and beyond.