Piccadilly Pickup
During the bus ride into the city, Janet had slipped into her new stilettos and dabbed some final cosmetic touches, thinly disguising her innocence of being only sixteen. The autumn twilight had now faded into darkness on the streets of London. “Piccadilly Circus!” hailed the conductor and Janet rose from her seat. Stepping from the red double-decker she instantly felt conscious of being a young female alone in Piccadilly; easily mistaken for a prostitute. Her dark hair contrasted against...