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I used to travel by late night bus when I had been out in the city centre. There were generally many of us returning via the same bus route as the 808 wove through the Southside. At the bus stop, a few folk would sit waiting on a set of stairs outside a council office. For whatever reason, there was a fairly large hole just about the size of a pizza box.

Inevitably, a pizza box was placed atop this hole. A lone drunk stumbles into view, his feet homing into the trap. Then he is down, the drunkeness immediately fades as pain takes over. he turns, enraged, towards 20 people laughing at him. The impotent rage fades into verbal abuse, and he limps off with a broken spirit knowing that nothing he can do would save face.

And then the wheel turns again and someone repositions the box.

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