The big-boned man in a heavy coat walked slowly and like a seaman. The child, muffled in an anorak, moved erratically, as if debating with himself whether to run, or skip, or make some sudden change of course. ‘How do, Killer,’ said Harry, pausing as they met under a lamp. ‘That is you, innit, inside of that hood?’ ‘How do, Harry,’ returned the boy. ‘Boony old night.’ ‘Surprised to see you wanderin about in it,’ said Harry. ‘I believe I should have been scared at your age.’ ‘I int got far to go,’ said Killer. ‘Hey, got a snout, mate?’ ‘You don’t smoke,’ Harry objected; ‘do you? You didn’t ought to; you int the size of a jockey yet. Anyway, I roll ’em.’ ‘Thass okay,’ said Killer, holding out his hand. Harry looked at it disapprovingly for a moment, then laid on it the battered tin from his pocket. The child, standing under the light, opened it and took a paper and skilfully rolled a cigarette. ‘Told you,’ he said, waiting to be lit. Their two faces made a sudden brilliance in the haze, red by the flare of Harry’s match.
What do You think about The Suburbs Of Hell (2015)?
