In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. They would forget to feed them as well so I spent a lot of time shoplifting in grocery stores and sifting through garbage behind restaurants. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack.
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