“People are looking at me. George felt the cold sweat of panic. Not the rage of his claustrophobia, the panic of guilty conscience. I wanted a friend, he told himself; someone to talk to, but people like Derek can only be enemies. Who loves ya, George? George knew he should not have left those letters in his room, not for a minute. Nothing could be left in the hostel rooms, unless it was old clothing no one else would want. Dirty socks, even underwear, walked away from the washing machine in the... basement. The laces from George’s training shoes had gone. And so had the letters, probably for the sake of the first-class stamps. Inside prison walls there had been some code of manners. Here there was none. He could see Derek, laughing. But then anything, even a piece of paper, was currency to small, skinny Derek. George found the envelopes, less the stamps and the contents, in the waste bin under the kitchen sink, along with the remnants of Chinese takeaways and polystyrene containers for hamburgers.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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