Kings Cross

Kings cross at 6.30pm is angry and Euston is seething. They are sister and brother from the wrong side of the tracks, as they like to say. They have a twisted love for each other. And to suffocate their all-consuming self hatred they sit in the only quiet hour of early morning and formulate ways to hurt people.

Euston the younger of the two was shocked at first, shocked at how easy it was. 'They come in droves like lambs to the abbatoir' she whispered to Kings Cross “I'd feel sorry for them if they weren't so pathetic' he growled. 'pa-the-tic' dragging each syllable to his slaughterhouse vocals. Anyone who passes them must pay. Once the extortion ois done any idea of compassion disappears deep into the cesspit of their simmering hatred. Once the extortion is over the fun begins.

There are people who work for them. Guards. They've recruited an army of followers . 'Get em in one room, pack 'em in 'till there eyes start to pop.. Beat them when your selling and sell to them when your beating them. The guards are too scared to listen to the complaining hoards and the shopkeepers too afraid to say anything other than what they have been told to say 'would you like some Cadburys chocolate with your headache pills' and in the middle of the concourse a boy pick pockets a a fifty yeaar old man keels over. Kings Cross smiles and I get the train out of there.

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