A Smaller Hell Read Free Page A

difficult to work out.  He was amazingly adept at hiding his habit even in the condensated quarters of a crowded bus. 
    No-one cared enough to risk becoming a statistic. 
    I looked at the newspaper on the vacant seat next to me and saw a sketch of my own face: Police want to question this man in connection with a murder.  I was already nervous about the job interview and reading the article made me feel as if I couldn’t breathe properly.
    I put down the newspaper and took the flyer from my pocket to read it once more before I arrived at my stop.
    Temporary Christmas staff required for Tanner’s Department Store’s busiest time of the year.
    No qualifications necessary.
    All applicants considered.
    Wide range of positions available.
    I smoothed down the unruly lapels of the suit and loosened my tie before I was startled by the sound of breaking glass.  I looked up to see the pipe smoker clutching his chest, the shattered pipe crunching under his staggering feet and drool spilling from his blue lips.  He was trying to ask other passengers for help, but no-one would oblige.  After a few seconds, he collapsed on to his back in the aisle.
    And still no-one came to his aid.
    They looked at him like he was getting what he deserved.
    I crouched down next to him and began CPR, the other passengers staring down at me out of the corners of their eyes.

Fly in the Ointment
     
    The building was foreboding in a traditional, conservative way.  Everything looked very clean and sparkly inside, whereas outside, detritus thrived and multiplied throughout the course of the day, like bacteria in a paved, illuminated petri dish.  Observing the shoppers and the natives, it was easy to tell one from the other.  It was tattooed into their faces, sometimes literally.  There were subtle differences between the crackheads and the smackheads, the boozehounds and the pill-poppers, the jailbirds and the veterans.  The shoppers were a different species altogether, armed with their 4x4s, credit cards and anti-depressants, they stormed through the town, taking whatever they wanted before returning to the safety of their gated driveways in the suburbs.
    I stopped at the main entrance of the store and looked up at the pale stone giant with square hulking shoulders and a tiny head.  The automatic doors slid open and I was invited into the belly of the giant by the familiar refrains of an old Christmas number one, a galaxy of twinkling lights and the perfume counter, attended by assistants with rouged cheekbones, perfect hair and a catalogue of disapproving glances.
    The glare of the store lights and the tidiness of it all made me sweat.  Goods were arranged in glass cabinets as if they were important and ancient artifacts.   I was a spanner in the golden machine that sparkled and hummed before my eyes with its cogs and gears of baubles, trinkets, clothes and toys stretching as far as the eye could see. 
    I followed the path in a circle back to the Cosmetics department. 
    ‘Hello, I wonder if you could tell me where Miss Doyle's office is?’ I asked.
    ‘It's MZZ Doyle,’ she said, unwilling to disturb her high cheekbones to return the smile.
    ‘I'm here for an interview and I've no idea where I'm going.’
    ‘I don't know why you're bothering: you wouldn’t survive a day here.’
    The girl from the Chanel counter must have detected blood in the air because she came from the other end of the counter to join in.  ‘Would you like me to call you a cab, sir?’ she stage-whispered.
    The pair of them downturned their smiles and tucked in their chins in mock sympathy as I walked away, somewhat bewildered.  I followed the yellow brick road round towards Haberdashery, where I met Miss Allister for the first time. 
    The department was a wasteland compared to Menswear and Cosmetics, its only occupants being the two elderly women working there.  One looked considerably softer and frailer than the other, who resembled the angular, upright