Magenta and Jenny turned left at the post office. They wandered down the old end of King st, past the Afghan carpet shop, past the school, the hall, the cafes and the Indian spice shop, which had fluorescent saris hanging outside it by day, and was the only place nearby where you could buy canned gulab jamens.

"What's she looking at now?", thought JennyO. Magenta was staring into a shop window. JennyO pressed her nose against the glass. It was set up like an arabian harem - dozens of belly dancing costumes, glittering with full skirts, tiny embroidered tops and little golden coins dangling here and there. And in the shop next door were dummies wearing stuidded leather jackets, pants and dog collars. Good old Newtown, it was impossible to get bored here.

Suddenly, Magenta's skin prickled all over. A familar gloved hand was touching her shoulder. JennyO looked around, and gasped in shock! "Not you again, what the hell are you doing in Newtown? Got kicked out of The Stafford hotel, didya?"