It had already been hot on the commute in. It quickly worked its way past that, to hotter, and then to Oh-dear-lord-this-is-unbearable. I frowned at the sky as I headed home. When it was my turn to run the universe, things were going to be very different. But it wasn’t my turn yet, and I waded to the Tube through the lowering, clammy air, air that felt as if a thunderstorm were due. And, until it arrived, the Tube itself was going to be worse. Fancy-pants cities like Paris and New York have air-conditioning on their undergrounds. We Brits pretend we’re too tough to need it, butching it out summer after summer. Today the temperatures underground would have seen you prosecuted for cruelty to animals, had you been transporting cattle. No cattle in my tube carriage, just lots of smelly, sweaty people. When I was above ground again, I made a quick stop and then headed out of the station. As I walked past the café, Mo knocked on the window and gestured me in. She was always there: her hours seemed to be ‘From opening until she fell over from tiredness’.
What do You think about A Cast Of Vultures (2016)?
