Ben was puffing from having sprinted down the platform. Thirty years ago he wouldn’t have raised a sweat, but now his legs ached and perspiration dripped from his forehead. He had at least put some distance between himself and the three youths hanging around near the waiting room. They were drunk, stoned maybe. Noisy as hell. Looking for trouble.
Johnno whistled as he pulled out a bunch of twenty dollar notes, passing them to the youth with the weasel face. He pulled out the cards from a side pocket of the wallet and flicked through them.
‘That will stop you talking to your brother. Now move on.’