When Hook emerges into the haze of perennial dusk that serves for London night his stomach growls and he goes to the kebab shop opposite the station. As he queues Hook witnesses an extraordinary thing. The two chavvy Greek girls in baggy tracksuits who hang round the tube and giggle when he passes are knocking on the glass making faces and blowing kisses at the tall, spotty Turkish lad who fries the chips.
One of the girls lifts her jumper and presses her large, bra-encased tits against the glass; the young man smirks as he passes over Hook’s parcel of meat. Outside the two girls cackle. Here’s Hook with his good suit, his obvious money, and they haven’t even registered his existence, so engrossed are they in the heroic actions of King Kebab.
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