THIRTY-THREE
I left Benny’s café just as he was about to shut up shop for the day. He came on to the pavement with me to inspect the motor car. He pulled a face on seeing the vehicle close up.
‘Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But this old crock is like me: it’s seen better days.’
‘It gets me from A to B,’ I said with a smile.
‘But what if you want to go further?’
It was a good question. One that I could not answer.
I clambered into the cab, wound down the window, gave a quick wave and turned the ignition to start up the engine. It resisted my first attempt and indeed my second, but with further coaxing and a little extra choke, it spluttered into life on the third go.
‘I think it’s time you gave it back to the circus,’ said Benny, as I pulled away in a manner far mo
