The dull thud of wood on flesh solicits little response from the men around me. Another thwack, and the boy stumbles, struggling not to loose his footing as he lurches out of the back of the lorry.
The truncheon, polished smooth by years of prodding and more strenuous exertions, is poised over the next boy who drops quickly to avoid a blow. Several more follow, some avoiding the blows, others not so lucky.
Their wares follow them over the tailgate – bandanas, phone chargers, cd cases, gaudy stickers, an assortment of ‘made in china’ goods form a bright pile in the dust.
More militia shove the sun dazzled boys into the cramped courtroom, more sticks at the ready for any unwarranted moves. Squeezed on to a bench, their heads lowered in submission, the street vendors await the day’s justice.
an excerpt from ‘Street Justice’, by sm