This might be useful for picking up information, but we have to squash him against the box whenever we go round. For the circle must stay as it is, unbroken. Sometimes he clings to the hook on my belt and trails behind me for a minute, then he bumps into another cluster of people, lets the belt go, and bounces back to the box. ‘We’re well looked after though, aren’t we?’ he keeps assuring himself into my ear as it passes close to his mouth. He probably means the hygiene box: his back touches it, rubs, rebounds and leans against it; could he but turn his whole body instead of craning his neck, the indoor pleasures would be his without queueing. He can’t, because the crowd tends to coagulate near a box or a firmly linked circle like ours. That’s why the five of us cannot risk standing still for long. The others might push right through us. It’s safer to revolve. And a small space inside the circle will remain free and empty as long as we protect it with this turning human hoop.
