Misfits In Liverpool

A misfit in Liverpool I think of oranges saw a painting by Constable of a morning sun that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some fishermen trying to catch eels on the dark surface in the bay. There were sail-ships too ready to hoist sail in the morning wind. When I lived in England I met several police constables, most of them, nice blokes, alas, during the miner´s strike they became radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up and were also promised plenty of overtime. John, the constable, - fifteen years on the beat and no promotion- a friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head, he continued his lonely beat but at the station he was ostracised, a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after hours and we drank vodka with orange juice lamenting the time we lived in. John got an early retirement and I sold my cafe.