X tells me this is it, this is the end. He’s clapped-out, tied up and binned, finished. He’s like a winter coat in Africa, he says, irrelevant, useless, unfit for purpose. Everyone can see it, he says, even children. It’s obvious in the way they all look at him, and in the way they look away from him. Why’s he even allowed to walk around, he says, why don’t I stop him?
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