He looked into the fridge at the fish-and-chips shops.
Ginger beer he saw. Ginger beer it is.
He did a little dance. He was singing. He was running. He was yelling. He was in the street. His face was a sunburned colour.
In a moment he'd have a ginger beer and it would be all right.
No, that wouldn't be right.
He was a middle-aged man and he was singing in a street full of leers and scowls and shouts and curses.
He opened the cap of his ginger beer.
This was the one thing that would send his mind back to his teenage years and early adulthood.
He raised the bottle of ginger beer. He tilted it towards his face.
A life-changing moment.
He took a growing swallow.
He would have to go somewhere, he knew. And he would have to get away from here. He had relived that memory and it was time to leave once more.
Time to leave this bloody street.
Fourteen years ago...
In a moment he'd have a ginger beer and it would be all right. On the far side of the street, at the end of a row of shops, he could see across the road to the train station.
His eyes went to the newsagent's across the street. There was a young woman just entering the shop. He watched her. He was smiling, projecting a smile out into the street.