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“Why wouldn’t I have paranoid traits, living as I has lived? As my life went on, my mini paranoia would save my life more than once.”
Edward Bunker, Memoirs of a Renegade
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I didn’t get back to Bailey’s till late afternoon. You take a walk through Shop Street, you better not be in a hurry. You meet your past, remnants of a shaky present and forebodings of the dark future. The past is represented by school friends, who appear old, shook and furtive. The present dances in a swirl of rain, refugees and lost winos, the future through the number of mobile phones and the hieroglyphics of text. An overall effect of bewilderment.
Years ago, a radio programme called Dear Frankie ruled the waves. Frankie sounded like Bette Davis on a particularly bad day. The whole country knew the show. Pro
