e thought that it was god who had helped him through the last three years, and had taught him that everybody's equal and colour's only skin deep. If only everybody thought that way.
             The long awaited 192 tram to Lincoln Avenue eventually arrived, 10 minutes late. Jamul hated this part of the day the most. Everyday he faced the humiliating walk of shame down the middle of the bus in order to sit in the ' black seats'. Today was not any different. As he mounted the tram jeers arose from the passengers in the front seats of the bus. Everybody stared at him so hard as though trying to read his mind. Jamul felt a sharp pain in the ankle as someone kicked him. . It was an old woman. Her face was wrinkled and drawn and her eyes were yellow and exhausted. This didn't surprise him in the slightest. Over the years Jamul took account of the fact that racists are not just middle-aged men but also children, elderly and women.
             He sat in the seat next to the window and stared at the sky. Light rain started spitting on the window. The sky, once quite bright was now overcast with grey clouds. The rain casually got heavier as the tram journey continued down the main street towards town for another 10 minutes and by the time the tram hit the third set of traffic lights the rain was bouncing off the sidewalk and a small stream was developing along side the curb. Thunder boomed in the air and the wind picked up and blew the litter through the street. This fascinated Jamul. He had always loved to walk in the rain and close his eyes as it thrashed at
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