There, there, my dear…

by Edgar Edgarberger

This morning, buying my ticket for the train, I noticed the guy in front of me in the queue looked a bit like a tall Charles Manson. In a slurred voice, he was saying to the ticket seller “Come on love, everyone knows who he is. The workers know, this guy will know.”

He turned around and showed me a cloth bound hardback book without the dust jacket, but with an embossed profile of Lenin on it. “You know who he is, don’t ya mate?’

“Of course I do – that’s Vlad!”.

We both walked away from the ticket office feeling slightly better.

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