Back in London, a woman sits at the next table to me in McDonald's. She has dreadlocks, a long yellow padded coat and an orange face. She eats two McFlurries in quick succession during the time it takes me to check my e-mail. 'Sorry darlin', don't have one', she says to my request. Nor does the girl shutting the gate to her block of flats in East London.
In desperation I accost a girl crossing the road wearing a string poncho. It is dark. To my relief she greets the approach with amusement. It may help that I have a large rucksack on my back and am still wearing shorts. 'Wow, you're leaving it pretty late. It's nearly midnight', she says. 'I know', I reply signaling the urgency of my situation. 'I suppose I'd better give you mine then', she offers. I thank her profusely and comment on the fact that it is the same as yesterday's. 'Coincidence', she says. I agree. 'Good luck with your resolution', she says as we continue our separate journeys home.
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