This story has mature themes, bodily fluids, and a high body count. Reader discretion advised.
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I went to college in London during the 80s, when the IRA were planting bombs. I had many close calls, like the time they blew up a store front on High Street just after a concert at the Prince Albert Hall had let out, when the street was full of people. I was two blocks away. If I hadn't stopped to go the bathroom, it might have been me cut to shreds by the flying glass.
This story has a lot of bombs and anarchists, and some Britishism as well. They fit the story that I told.
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