Of No Fixed Abode
it was time they were all out. Some of them even seemed to have somewhere to go. A few left for good, with the light hardly-to-be-counted as luggage of the vagrant, the scratched suitcases of the casual labourers looking squashed in at the corners like soap-cartons, but with good locks unrusted.
Subscribe for just £40 and get free access to the archive
Please login on the left to read more or buy the article for £3