Mary Wakefield Mary Wakefield

An odd new feeling has crept up on me: sympathy for the police

Spring has come to my local park in its usual way. First the magnolias, then the cherry blossom, then the little silver ampules which once held nitrous oxide scattered in the grass. On Sunday the kids appeared, not a gang exactly, more a swarm of teens, angry and unstable.

A boy of about 14 raced a moped at breakneck speed around the toddler playground.

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