Late night revellers queued outside a fish and chip shop,
turning to each other, flashing smiles and laughing. Light from streetlamps
shone brightly, while neon pinks and blues from shop-front signs reflected in
the banks of windows running down the street. More revellers lined the curb at
a taxi rank: they watched, half-drunk, some stooped, others leaning on brick
walls, as cars which were not taxis filed by, headlights low. For some, the
night was not yet over, and they hunkered in groups, smoking next to entrances
or racing to the next bar, the next opportunity.
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