I ran. Camden. 8.00pm.Thursday.1986.

They were walking but I ran. A bunch of kids flew past. Overtook. Something fell onto my arm. The kids span round-mouths open and spat out a sentence.

The others were up ahead still walking but messing around. Crossing each others paths, fake fighting, ducking and weaving. They were doing Prince Naseem in his early fights- somersaults in a leopard skin skirt and sneaky back-step run he did with  the look of a comedian.

Forward, back, forward,back, forward, back. That’s what his trainer told him. Stay on the lines. Get the footwork. Don’t throw a punch until you get the footwork.

I ran. The sound of Etta James was leaching out the Electric Ballroom. Dance with me Henry – ooh- you gotta go- you gotta go – you gotta go on….

Up ahead the others had all slowed down and lost interest in touching. I could see it in up and down vision.

” Don’t start dancing with me if you’re not going to finish it”  is what it looked like. All their heads turned away , just the back of the neck  doing the talking.

Later. Not here. Not now. Not ever.