Next to the streets of houses where people just wanted a quiet life lay the homes and flats and alleys where people wanted the exact opposite. Here, the air stank of doom and gloom; it was a world a passerby would likely turn a blind eye to, pretend it never existed. A concrete jungle with more than its fair share of addicts off their heads, drunks staggering about or bent over the gutters. There was a new class A craze that had just reached the area too; plenty of spice-heads off their faces, walking about like zombies, not a clue what day it was. They seemed to go from normal to drooling idiots in no time, unable to put a sentence together, talking gibberish. Why would you take something that made you act like that, thought Donny. Still, he had no problems working here though, he was a tough cookie, his background had prepared him for this and worse. He’d been brought up on a council estate and wasn’t wet behind the ears; he knew the crack on the streets, understood what was what. Streetwise, he was. Knew more about this world than he would ever let on. He was fairly young for a headmaster, only in his thirties, but he’d packed a lot in. And anyway, Donny still reckoned he had it, though he hated that he was getting older. They say life begins at forty, and he told everyone he would welcome it with open arms, embrace it, but in truth he dreaded it. He had things he wanted to have achieved by forty. He had goals – and he knew you didn’t make it by playing everything by the book. Still, he wasn’t there yet and he could be as down with the kids as the next man. He loved music, kept up to date with all the up-and-coming artists, knew the scene. He would sit for hours listening to his favourite tracks whenever he got the chance. They chilled him out, made him feel relaxed and helped him drift away to a place where he felt safe, secure.