The Kraftwerk concert had been good, but the quick round of sex enjoyed just outside, in front of everyone, had been better. Still, he couldn’t understand why so many people had stopped to jerk off, nor why some of them were police, who, if anything, were supposed to break up this kind of disorderly behaviour. Then the actual police turned up, and he realised that what he’d previously thought were police were actually tramps, that what he’d thought was the street outside a Kraftwerk concert in Kentish Town was actually a disgusting one-roomed hovel in Wigan, and that he wasn’t actually a man, and that it was him getting shafted, and that what he’d thought were ‘the actual police’ were just more tramps.