Soho was indeed a strange place. With its short, narrow streets, it wasn’t nearly as confusing or intimidating as Camden Town, and there were so many distinctive landmarks you couldn’t get lost. It had the feel of a village, with little shops, but all different. There was a butcher’s right next to a shop selling ladies’ underclothes. Then a shop with strange meats hanging in the windows and another shop selling ladies’ underclothes, then a little cinema and a bakery with cakes in the window, then a fishmonger, a dress shop, a hair salon, a bookshop and then another shop selling ladies’ underclothes. Anthony’s flat was above a shop that sold magazines and posters. Well, the window was all blacked out, and there was a big sign on the front of it that said, ‘Magazines and posters for sale.’ Jimmy looked in and was surprised to see no magazines or posters, just a man behind a counter who looked Asian and nodded at the door, saying, ‘Anthony is upstairs.’ It didn’t really matter, though; Jimmy was just delighted that Anthony remembered him.
