The girl reading the telegraph pole, she must have heard my feet or something. One of her fat friends giggles. The big girl steps away from the lamppost.
What she’d been looking at was this poster. A photo of a man lying on his belly on a bed. Wearing only his boxers, looking at the camera. Smiling. As if he was pleased to be photographed wearing next to nothing.
Now he’s pinned to a telegraph pole: a telegraph pole pin up for anyone to look at because it’s his eighteenth birthday. I know, because that’s what the sign says. The tiny car sinks on its springs.
I get in my car and drive home knowing that whatever else happens today, no-one’s going to post pictures of me on telegraph posts.