Red Heat

I think of myself as a reasonable man of the world, one with a certain amount of cynicism and weariness about what goes on. Then something happens and I get a reminder that no, I am in fact a tiny naïf who probably shouldn't be allowed out on his own.I was on the M1 headed across the city, and a man was stood beside me with his suitcase. He had neat, trimmed nails, apart from the little finger on his right hand, which I realised was a coke fingernail. I was scandalised. Was it 1976? Was I at Studio 54? This man was on public transport, where people could see him, with a clear indicator that he was a gentleman who used illicit substances. If I had been wearing pearls, I would absolutely have clutched them. Reeling, I staggered off the train at the end of the line at Sesto 1º Maggio FS. I'd gone from Rho Fieramilano right to the opposite end of the M1; with two branches closed off, it was time to do the rest. The station was in something of a state. It's connected to a mainline station…