I, and many of my old school friends, have been drafted, and posted to Northern Ireland. I know in advance that the petrol tanker convoy, of which I am to be the pedestrian vanguard, will be set alight. As I walk down the street, I look worriedly from side to side.
From the deserted roadway through industrial wasteland, I notice a solitary person standing on a side street. In case he is about to throw a rock, I point at him, and the fortified gun positions point themselves right at him. This happens twice. All the time, I am worried that the tanker will be set on fire.
I continue into a building, up and down stairs in a narrow corridor, looking over each step for a bomb. There are none.
Later, all of the other conscripts and myself congregate in a small, yellow room. For fun, we stick little stickers on each other.