Scene Three

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Sol didn't mind getting an X-ray in the company of a bored-looking young constable. He worried about the small lump of dope in his jeans but there was nothing he could do about it now. They had cut the jeans off and taken them away - along with his piss-soaked boxers. He was wearing a thin blue robe that fastened up the back. Anyone who was interested could check out his somewhat wrinkled arse. Good luck to them, he thought.

He had been cautioned and told he would be charged with causing a breach of the peace. He wished that he had kept a record of the number of times he had been arrested, charged or just roughed up by men in uniform. So long as they left his guitars alone, he chalked it up to experience.

The constable accompanied him and his trolley to a somewhat older doctor who gave him a shot of some super-dope that enabled Sol to grin as his leg was dragged back into the right shape, externally pinned and encased in a blue plastic boot.

'Gonna clash with me fuckin' jeans', Sol said while the constable raised a finger to his lips. Sol switched to RP.

'My sincere apologies for the swearword, Mr Medic, but in extremis, a swearword is often more efficacious than a painkiller - don't you agree?'

'Don't mind me, Sol. I'm only upset I didn't have a copy of 'District Zero' to get an autograph.' The doctor attempted a conspiratorial wink which failed presumably due to lack of practice.

'Blimey - you a fan then?' Sol tried to estimate the doctor's age - fifty maybe. Maybe older or maybe younger, who knew these days? Sol lifted his chin for his audience. Guys need something to look up to.

'Sort of - my Dad's got all your albums. Says I was conceived to 'Lust and Dust'.' He laughed in a slightly embarrassed way while Sol let his chin relax. Time for a nap. 

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