The East End

Stilettos and hard black shoes, clack-clack, they walk the Christmas pavement. City dwellers and workers rush to the tube and pubs for warmth and bitters and peanuts in chipped glasses on soft napkins, moist from frothy beer.

Shitty, spitty pavements, fag ends and chewing gum circles.

Cold whores in skimpy numbers trying to think straight, the icy wind biting into soft thighs as they lean in car windows. Pending price and place and punter, anything goes.

Bethnal Green station,
a short walk to The Camel,
for a pie and mash.