Eric Sandler was at breaking point. The dirty nigger that pushed past him without so much as bothering to apologise gave him a rotten glare, as though Eric were somehow at fault. The crowds were the same for everyone, being jammed to the hilt in Waterloo tube station, as they were every morning, and Eric was doing his best to keep moving toward the Jubilee platforms without getting in anyone's way, but it was impossible. Everyone was in the same boat, so why did that coon think he somehow had special right of way?
He was so sick of being made to feel he was to blame the instant any unwanted immigrant pest had the slightest problem. Not for the first time he felt deep pangs of sympathy for his father - the man had been tyrannical, even downright evil toward him at times, but his attitude toward all the filth coming off the boats and planes was pretty damn good. If he knew what the country had fallen to...
Still, Eric took great comfort from knowing that the war to cleanse the country of it's malcontents would begin very soon, at his hand no less.