In some ways I think they thought they were more dangerous. We just thought they were sad. When did religion ever change anything? So, we simmered over a low flame and got older. We graffitied the trains. We posted flyers in the dead of night, and we told ourselves that we were making a difference and that the day would come. It didn’t. Days like the one we were hoping for don’t just come. They must be made, forced, coerced into being. And that takes someone with enough fire to burn things to the ground. That wasn’t us. We were weak. We threw matches on asphalt. A brief flicker, then nothing. Safe fire. Most people, no matter what they say, just want a quiet life. Just want life. Just don’t want to die. D and me were at the pub. Just the two of us. I’m ‘G’. We called each other by letters to ‘avoid detection’ and because, when we were eight, we’d thought it was a cool idea, and it just stuck. An old joke running a circular track. C was working shifts, stacking shelves. The sort of job they’d let us have if we were really good boys. M was recently married, and his partner wasn’t well pleased that he hung with us, so we didn’t see much of him anymore. B and F and B2 (yeah, I know!) had played indoor that night. The place was pretty quiet because curfew was only an hour away and you really didn’t want to get caught on the streets after curfew. That’s when Baz walked in. Big, bad Baz. All muscle and tattoos and attitude. I thought he was still in jail. I’ll be honest, he’d scared the shit out of me at school, and he still did. The guy was like a like a downhill bike with no brakes. There was only ever one way it was going to end for Baz. Which is why I stared at my beer when he started walking our way. “You lads still plotting the downfall of empire?” Not a bad opening line if you wanted to clear a room. Which it did. “You’re out then?” “No, mate. Still in. I’m projecting my animus through a separate 94
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