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London, April 1987

If you know where to look, you can still find him. Sometimes he'll be down near Waterloo other times up by the Tower. He's old and doesn't move that well - he shuffles- and his teeth are bad.

Most days, you'll find him by one of the soup kitchens near the Bank - they make sure he has a hot meal and somewhere to sleep but his mind is gone and very few would now recognise him. There are a very few who stand by him and keep him safe.

This is his life now - just occasionally he'll tell you of his life, of the wars and the days of glory. He doesn't talk much about his recent past, since he was released from prison.

One of his cellmates looks after him as do a few of his former comrades not that there's any real threat now. It all happened so long ago and while the children and grandchildren of his victims might want him dead, most of the world believes he died in prison.

He didn't.

He's still there - living in the streets he once ruled, among the people he once led to glory and disaster, in the city he saw destroyed twice and now rebuilt. Would he recognise it now ?

Does he even care ?
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