Стража! Стража!

           Lifeisjustchemicals.Adrophere,adripthere,everything’schanged.Ameredribbleoffermentedjuicesandsuddenlyyou’regoingtoliveanotherfewhours.

           Once,inthedayswhenthishadbeenarespectabledistrict,somehopefulownerofthetavernnextdoorhadpaidawizardaconsiderablesumofmoneyforanilluminatedsign,everyletteradifferentcolour.Nowitworkederraticallyandsometimesshort-circuitedinthedamp.AtthemomenttheEwasagarishpinkandflashedonandoffatrandom.

           Vimeshadgrownaccustomedtoit.Itseemedlikepartoflife.

           Hestaredattheflickeringplayoflightonthecrumblingplasterforawhile,andthenraisedonesandalledfootandthumpedheavilyonthefloorboards,twice.

           AfterafewminutesadistantwheezingindicatedthatSergeantColonwasclimbingthestairs.

           Vimescountedsilently.Colonalwayspausedforsixsecondsatthetopoftheflighttogetsomeofhisbreathback.

           Ontheseventhsecondthedooropened.Thesergeant’sfaceappearedarounditlikeaharvestmoon.

           YoucoulddescribeSergeantColonlikethis:hewasthesortofmanwho,ifhetookupamilitarycareer,wouldautomaticallygravitatetothepostofsergeant.Youcouldn’timaginehimeverbeingacorporal.Or,forthatmatter,acaptain.Ifhedidn’ttakeupamilitarycareer,thenhelookedcutoutforsomethinglike,perhaps,asausagebutcher;somejobwhereabigredfaceandatendencytosweateveninfrostyweatherwerepracticallypartofthespecification.