Martin Amis

I went for a rug-rethink in Queensway this afternoon. Fifteen quid, just for a feminine touch. That was all I was after. The smocked chick fingered my hair and said in her stupid voice, ‘You’re receding.’ ‘We all are,’ I said. We all are.

And now I am one of the unemployed. What do we do all day? We sit on stoops and pause in loose knots on the stained pavements.