CITIZEN POINT STATUS: has run three red lights

FAMILY STATUS: they’ve forgotten him

Who had retreated to the washroom to snort a mixture of fenethylline and other strong narcotics. Which he does. And then makes his way toward the cellar of the club. The boxer has a strange feeling today. At least it’s a feeling. Which is a change from the norm. The norm is being dead. The boxer is actually a chemistry lab technician. He came to England a year before. He came by tractor from Chad, Syria, or one of these—go ahead, say it—places that won’t be around much longer. Because there’s no more water or the ocean is full of plastic or oil or because there’s a civil war that nobody gives a shit about because there aren’t any natural resources there that can be used to make car batteries or computers. So. The boxer took leave of his previous life in some shithole or other. He didn’t consider what it meant to leave the smells, the air, and above all the natural way you navigate your own homeland. That occurred to him only when he landed in London. Together with five other illegals. In one of those toolsheds that’s touted as a “charming carriage house.” He had cold feet and homesickness and didn’t understand a word spoken by any of the others, all of whom were from different shitholes that had also been rendered unlivable for human beings. For a few days he had just lay on the floor; his roommates shared their bread with him and were considerate, which manifested itself in their beating each other up outside the room. After a week came the pimp. One of those handlers who finds illegals all sorts of shite jobs, from prostitution to burglary, money collecting, intimidation, and drug dealing. The boxer was hungry and wondered whether it might have been better to have remained at home, back in the place that might have been in the Bikini Atoll. The boxer’s first job had to do with people. “OMG, I love being around people.” Nearly every day he was taken in a lorry or bus along with others like himself to London or some other location in the country, where there was a demonstration taking place. The illegals’ task was then to form an aggressive counterprotest, with the additional duty of beating up demonstrators. The boxer beat people up every day. Until the introduction of the chips, which eliminated the problem. Since then there are no more demonstrations, as a result of the point system.