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One morning, at Battersea Funfair, I noticed Mike Withers.
He always wore a dark grey tracksuit, whether in the pub
or working, but was usually in Southwark. Normally
he had London Pride, but today was holding coconuts.
The state I found him in, on the day after our relegation,
I was in too; the disbelief and dishevelment-
the crazed familiarity with strangers
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But I knew that Mike would never drift out to Greenwich
and there mutate from Lion to Addick:
a Millwall fan and of health advice, probably,
in contravention, but Mike was rarely found out
of his element: back in Southwark, back on the Fullers,
we imagined our winter trip to the Orient