The price seemed reasonable, location Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived Off premises. Nothing remained But self-confession. "Madam" , I warned, "I hate a wasted journey - I am African." Silence. Silenced transmission of pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came, Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was, foully. "HOW DARK?"...I had not misheard...."ARE YOU LIGHT OR VERY DARK?" Button B. Button A. Stench Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak. Red booth. Red pillar-box. Red double-tiered Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed By ill-mannered silence, surrender Pushed dumbfoundment to beg simplification. Considerate she was, varying the emphasis- "ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT" Revelation came "You mean- like plain or milk chocolate?" Her accent was clinical, crushing in its light Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted I chose. "West African sepia...