Last summer, in London at least, the hoodie was transformed from a benign piece of leisurewear into a uniform for the disaffected, the angry, the malevolent. So much so that ‘hoodie’ was no longer a piece of clothing. It was a whole person. A hoodie was somebody likely to steal, plunder and do you unimaginable harm.
People were crossing the street when a hoodie crossed their path - even if it was a 70-year-old gentleman walking his dog. That’s how quickly the fear had permeated the collective consciousness. And lifting the hood was tantamount to cocking a gun.
Tags: social-commentary crime riot london-riots
There was a ringing in his ears, like a dead phone line that he couldn’t hang up on.
Mark CapellTags: fighting crime-fiction gangsters police-corruption
Dell had left the army and taken the discipline home with him. I’d left the theatre world and taken the whisky sodas home with me.
Mark CapellTags: humour alcohol liquor drink
In the main café area next door, Delilah is coming to the end of Moonlight Sonata. The final notes are deep, sad — placed in a way only Beethoven knows how to place notes. They drill a hole in my stomach and place a lead weight there. If death has ever been portrayed in music, it’s in those final bars. And yet, at the same time, they’re so beautiful.
Mark CapellI settle for a radio station that’s currently playing a Tom Waits track. That man has so much gravel in his voice that, if he coughed, you could build a road with the contents of his phlegm.
Mark CapellWhat would be the point of safety measures? What’s the point of a man balancing on a wire if there’s no risk of his life coming to a premature end? Where’s the danger in that? Where’s the spectacle?
Mark CapellPage 1 of 1.
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