It’s 10 pm on a Wednesday night and I’m standing in Blessed, a south London takeaway joint, half-listening to a fellow customer talking earnestly about Jesus. I’m nodding along, trying to pay attention as reggae reverberates around the small yellow shop front. But really, all I can really think about is: What’s in the bag?
Today’s bag is blue plastic. A smiling man passes it over the counter. Only once I extricate myself from the religious lecture and get home do I discover what’s inside: Caribbean saltfish, white rice, vegetables, and a cup of thick, brown porridge.
All week, I’ve lived off mysterious packages like this one, handed over by cafés,
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