原文开头
Outside the pub, the world is ending. Inside, though, the party is in full swing. The Garrison is heaving. Ashtrays are overflowing with cigarette butts. Countless card games have been played and abandoned. There are beer bottles, both broken and intact, and half-swigged glasses of whisky everywhere. Drinkers reel and stagger around; couples embrace with loose abandon. The light is low and it smells like smoke. This is a scene of pure debauchery. Nobody is getting away from here without a terrible, bone-rattling hangover. The year is 1940 and the Birmingham Blitz has just begun. …
摘自《帝国》(Empire)2026年2月刊,Rebecca Nicholson。仅引用开头一小段供了解文章,版权归原刊所有,全文请阅读原刊。