7Ping remembered Market Street. Four-thirty a.m. A rat the size of a kitten darted out of the drain. She jumped out of its way. The market was not open yet, but the grannies in black samfoos were already there hovering like black crows waiting for offal, and so were the big boys, who glared at her. She was the only girl, but she refused to be cowed. She had to earn money to buy schoolbooks. A sudden screech of brakes made her leap onto the pavement. Four lorries rounded the corner.
“You f*****g beggars! Watch your heads!”
Baskets of vegetables were flung onto the road. Arms shot up around her. Legs kicked and elbows dug into her sides. She tripped and fell when she tried to squeeze past the grannies. They fended her off like ferocious blackbirds, squawking and scolding, as they rammed th
