The city’s streets were teaming with the largest anti-war demonstration in its history. Ned, an old and haggard peace veteran, pushed and staggered his way through the main swell of the protest, and headed for one of the High Street’s public houses,
“Excuse me,” he spluttered, “Er, excuse me... Coming through..”

As he pushed and shoved his way through the crowds, ribbons of conversation fluttered past his ears, amplified by his hearing aids,
“...Oi! Watch it...”
“...They've formed road-blocks around the city...”
“...Spare a cigarette?...”
“...nobody’s been allowed in or out for hours?...”
“...That’s whatsisname, aint it?...”

The pub came into view, encouraging Ned towards its embrace,
Excuse me...” he said, heading for the side entrance,
“...Excuse me... I said, EXCUSE ME!...”

He slipped into the pub and headed straight for the men’s toilets. There was a sign on the door - ‘For patrons only’ - which he ignored, hurriedly unzipping his fly on his way to the urinals,
Ohhh...peace on earth...” he sighed, finally feeling the relief,
“...I thought I was gonna burst...ohhhh...”

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