The skinhead sidled up to the bus stop. In the shelter, Doris was unimpressed. Doc Martens? Scuffed leather jacket? And that ring through his lip! Another scruffy youth. In her eighty years, she’d seen them come and go. They’ll soon tidy themselves up when they need to earn a living.

“I don’t know what the fuss was about.” It was George. Always some pompous opinion on the story du jour, her sprightly neighbour patted his coarse white hair back against his head as he started again. “I mean, so what if he had a few drinks? We all did! Why’re they getting themselves so worked up about it?”

Idiot! But remaining tight-lipped, Doris bit her tongue, searching instead inside an empty, burgundy shopping trolley for an imaginary diversion. George wasn’t worth the effort.

It was the boy, who’d obviously heard George, who chimed in.

“They’re not getting worked up because he attended parties. They’re getting worked up because he stood up and lied to us all. This man was the prime minister. Whom we elected into a position of responsibility. And he lied to us. If he lied once, what else did he lie about?”

Surprisingly articulate. An imperceptible smile of approval, but Doris remained hushed.

George, though, clearly unused to being contradicted, was not quite speechless, though his initial response was merely to grunt before he countered, “if you ask me, they all lie to us! So what? That’s no reason to single him out.”

The remark drew nods of agreement from the other two occupants of the shelter, both the senior side of seventy. After all, maybe George had a point?

As if the remark had gone unheard, the boy abstained. George, however, was launched, beginning a tirade which ended, “if you ask me, we could do a better job of running the country!”

Nods of approval from his adoring audience. Except for one.

“You?”, cried the boy. “Two seconds ago, you told us that lying to people is okay. I wouldn’t want you running my country!”

No reaction, though the approaching bus diffused the impasse. Destined for the hospital, the boy alone leapt abord; the others remained to wait for the “town” bus.

When it was safely out of view, George tutted and mumbled “Bloody young hooligan”.

Finally, Doris spoke. “I wish I’d have had his passion.”

---

inspired by real life.