They were clustered around the entrance to London’s Richmond Station at 10:45 on a Saturday night, sheltering from the drizzle: six kids in their late teens or early 20s, half boys and half girls. It was the girls one noticed: high heels, gauzy skirts, tresses stiff with hairspray, heavy mascara—dressed for a party. They were making a spectacle of themselves, the sort that in Britain reads instantly as “we are extremely drunk and we want everyone to know about it.” One of them was screeching incomprehensibly and laughing raucously, with no particular message besides the sheer racket she was making.
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