Free Edge by Thomas Blackthorne

sensation in Richard's mouth. Nothing had ever been like this: flavourfilled, urgent, seeping into his body through his tongue.
        "Am I supposed to be getting paid?" The words just came out. "For the… you know."
        "Would you have found this place by yourself?"
        "Uh…"
        "So, you've been paid, intya?"
        Richard shook his head, then wiped the last of his bread round inside the soup cup, soaking up the last of it.
        "All right, look," continued Jayce. "I'll see you all right afterward. We… never mind."
        A big woman was standing next to Richard. "Did anyone explain that we don't ask questions?"
        Richard nodded.
        "So we don't, but if someone wants to talk, we listen. And you" – she thrust out a green sweatshirt – "need to put on an extra layer. Sorry we've no blankets tonight."
        "Er… thank you."
        "Uh-huh." She watched him a moment, gave a mouth movement that might have been anything, then walked away.
        "Do-gooders," muttered Jayce.
        "What?" Richard pulled on the sweatshirt. "What do you mean?"
        "Feel sorry for you one minute, suck you into the machine the next."
        "Machine?"
        "The system. The thing , man."
        "Oh. Right."
        "Like teachers, like bosses, like yer fat cats in banks, telling you what to do."
        "So what if we don't go to the college tonight, like Mr Khan said?"
        "You crazy, Richie-boy? You don't let him down."
        There was a contradiction there, invisible to Jayce. But so far being smart had not helped Richard at all; while Jayce with his teeth that looked covered in lichen, his breath stinking, survived.
        "How long have you been here? On the streets?"
        Some of the others were looking at them.
        "Come on." Jayce kicked Richard's ankle. "Let's get gone."

    Some time later, walking along a street of graffiti-tagged houses, Richard felt his bowels shifting.
        "Uh… Jayce?"
        "Yeah, man?"
        "How far is the college? I mean, how long will it take to get there?"
        "I dunno. Twenty minutes? Maybe a bit more."
        "Are there any, uh, toilets closer than that?"
        Jayce stared at him. "You're something else, intya?"
        "What do you–?"
        "'Sakes, lookit the street. No one here. Pick a doorway. I won't tell."
        "What?" Desperate enough to cry, Richard looked around. There was nowhere else.
        "And I ain't gonna watch, neither. See you at the next corner."
        "Shit." Not the kind of language he used.
        "Do whatever you like, Richie-boy."
        "I–I'll see you in a bit."

    There were three visible cameras – one on each pillar of the big gateway leading to the yard in front, the other beyond the yard, inside the main entrance – and all three were coated in a blackened mess.
        "Been bubbled," said Jayce. "Know what I mean?"
        "Sort of."
        "Like a spray kind of thing. Shoots upward real high, sticks real well. Hard to clean off."
        "So I just go straight in?" Richard felt the small box in his pocket. "Cap on?"
        "Take the cap off until you're inside. Most of these dozy buggers" – Jayce pointed at the people, all adults, crossing the yard – "won't have noticed the cameras are screwed. You'll look more normal, like, with no cap."
        "But I put it on inside? With the veil?"
        "Of course, unless you're sure every cam's been fucked. Anyway, you'll do great."
        "You're not coming in?"
        "Your gig, not mine. I don't look like a student, or someone's kid."
         And I do?
        Not if he carried on living like this. He wanted to think there was something inside him that made him different; but he knew that if he stayed on the streets he would change.
        "You're going to wait?"
        "Sure. Fuck's sake go in, willya?"
        Taking off his cap, Richard rubbed his face several times,