Bill's flash

Echoing voices under the high glass atrium, good suits and glossy leather shoes,and the lone Big Issue seller: scruffy beard, missing tooth, cheeky grin. I think of that face, looking down from the bunk, telling me which warder to trust, when to lie low. An old lag - twenty years on me - he'd be 61 now. Yes, it's him. I keep my head down, hurry on. I don't carry small change around these days.