The baby, unbothered by diesel fumes, enjoys an outing down the main road through London N1. Each passing bus is marked by a fat and pointing finger: ‘There!’ On the way to our local park last Thursday, we had just begun to cross the road, pointing up at the green ‘walk’ man, when a scooter tore straight through a red light and cut across in front of the pram.
‘What the hell?!’ I shouted and raised an angry hand.
To my surprise, instead of speeding off, the driver jammed on his brakes and skidded round to face me. He was a boy of about 15 or 16, black, slight, and snarling with fury.
He said: ‘You want to start? You really wanna start this?’ The baby and I were mid-road. The sun was bright on new tarmac, the pedestrian light flashing a countdown: 10, 9, 8…
Only the gang kids behave in this jumpy way, hyper-sensitive to disrespect.
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