Hot wet rain slithers up between your toes from the puddles below. The balls of your grit-speckled feet tickle the tarmac. You rub them on the ground for temporary relief. Only temporary.

Ten stilleto heels click-clack towards you. The fleshy lumpy towers held high above them cackle and gurn, their skin sparkling with summer sweat and sequins. You feel underdressed, in your blue M&S dressing gown with the sleeves rolled up. But they can’t see you. You slip to the side of the alley so that they can stumble past. You catch a faint whiff of something. You’re close.