The Sweet Shop was a dinosaur in an age of shopping complexes and neon lights. Or perhaps it was more like a cockroach, small and hardy. It was really a shack with few comforts – the Sweet Man having to sit on a wooden stool perched over an array of paper trays filled with goodies, patiently peering at the boys who dipped their fingers into them. The Sweet Man rarely got off his stool. On those rare occasions when he did, it took him no more than a step to shuffle to the tray furthest from him. Sometimes his hands trembled a little. In fact, he looked as ancient as his shack. But the interesting thought was that the domineering dinosaur trampled itself to death whereas the humble cockroach is still with us, scurrying around the concrete jungle, far removed from its ancient habitat.

Mun stood on his toes, his eyes on the lady transacting with the Sweet Man. Her hair, her clothes, her mannerism – these escaped his attention: all he knew was that she was old, much older than himself ; but young, younger than his mother. Neither was he listening to the few words that she spoke. Instead his eyes were alert to the slightest turn of her face, body or hand which would indicate that she had completed her transaction and would be moving away. His impatience was like a cloud through which he was vaguely aware that the lady’s fingers were flirting with the trays of sweets, hesitating here and there as if unsure which delight would give her most pleasure.

She was buying for herself, Mun realised, not for a son or nephew...she was buying for herself. Why would a grown-up lady be seduced by sweets? His father and uncles were his paradigm of adulthood. Adult men did not waste their time on sweets. Why would adult women do so? You’ll grow fat. Fat! Fat! Fat! Mun thought savagely.

When the lady finally moved off and his favourite tray of sweets was accessible again, Mun’s left hand descended upon it immediately, clasped exactly ten, turned over for the Sweet Man to count, while his right hand pushed a couple of coins into the Sweet Man’s palm. Without another look Mun turned and started briskly down the road, his mind already dwelling on his friends who should be waiting for him in the tuckshop. It was eleven o’clock in the morning.

With his schoolbag thudding on his back Mun came to the bend at the road where a footpath led to the Bridge overlooked by the Haunted House. Mun knew that the bridge and the haunted house were too far away to be seen but he clambered up anyway for a view and caught sight of something -- something emerging against the glaring sunlight that was worse than any creature he could ever imagine. He saw the Gang ambling towards him along the footpath. For an instant their eyes met. They were three bullies from the school beyond the canal. They had crossed the Bridge on their way to the Sweet Shop and were just about the length of a swimming pool away. Mun did not wait to ascertain their reaction; instead he turned away and ran for his life. The gate to his school was about the length of two football fields away. He could hear the gang chasing after him. He shoved his sweets into his pockets spilling a couple onto the road in the process.

Mun never had to sprint so fast in his life, but sprint he did, with his bag flapping from side to side, his mouth gasping for air, his arms swinging about to counter the momentum of his bag. He heard their footsteps behind him, their shouts of obscenities and their laughter: they the hunters - he the prey. Panting heavily now, his heart pounding in his chest like a pile driver, his arms and leg muscles aching, a wild flutter developing in his stomach, Mun ran as fast as he could. The school gate was still some way off and the gang was already gaining on him. Oh god! Can’t afford a cramp now, Mun thought desperately. The gang was closing the gap between them. The school fence, he had reached the school fence and curious students looked at him from inside without any expression. Help! he wanted to cry out, somebody help! But he was gasping and spluttering incoherently. The gate. He must reach the gate. His thighs were aching, his legs felt as if they were made of lead and his speed was slowing down. Bastards, he thought and cursed at his pursuers mentally. Run! Faster, faster. Mustn’t let them catch him. They were almost upon him. The first of the gang reached out to grab at him -- only to grab at empty air. Now!

Mun swung his left arm outwards, and spinning his body to the left, his fingers brushed against the bully's arm, and hit straight into the gate with his right arm extended in front of him to break his momentum. There was a scramble as the guy behind him tried to grab at him again, but he managed to throw his body along the metal grille, felt the other’s fingers slip away, and pushed himself past the gate and down the driveway towards the tuckshop. He was stumbling now, his feet were giving up, but thank god! he could feel the presence of the gang falling away. He was in now. And they were out.

Trembling all over, his chest heaving, strength sapped, Mun crouched at the driveway facing the gate where the Gang stood, making dirty signs at him. There was nothing between him and the Gang. They could walk right up to Mun if they wanted to, but they did not. They did not because Mun was inside. And they were out. They knocked and rattled at the metal grille. They even placed their feet on the grille and hanged their feet there in the air for a moment, but they did not venture beyond the imaginary line where the space between the metal grilles ended and where the space belonging to the school began. That was the imaginery line that delineated the difference between authority and anarchy. After a few more obscenities the Gang departed, swinging their arms boldly as if they owned the entire road, making monkey faces at those who peered at them from inside the fence.

Mun slumped onto the bench where his four friends were seated and they eyed him quizzically. He was still panting, his face red and puffed up, his all white uniform drenched with perspiration while his head rolled from side to side as he struggled to speak.

Cheng, more introspective and intuitive by nature, could guess what had happened but he wore a look of detached curiosity devoid of sympathy for Mun. Watching Mun’s head swaying from side to side, he could not suppress the faintest curl of a smile on his lips, and glanced at Lam.

“What happened?” The question came more like a command than a query from Lam. There was no trace of child-like curiosity in Lam’s eyes for Lam behaved older than his age and went about his affairs exuding an air of confidence. In between gasps, Mun, now grinning and shaking his head, pointed his arms towards the road. Lam caught a glimpse of blue shorts on the road beyond the school fence.

“That stupid Gang!” he muttered and ordered Mun to give a detailed account of his flight from danger.

At the end of Mun’s account, Lam with much indignation told his own story of how the fat guy from the Gang took a seat beside him on a bus one day and began to wriggle and shove until eventually he was pushed off his seat.

“And the skinny one immediately jumped into my seat – my seat!” Lam repeated, “Bullies, robbers, cheats. Everyone of them.”

As they thought about Lam’s story Mok, the more rotund of the Group, recounted the episode where he was waylaid along the footpath and the Gang threw his school bag over the canal. He had to run all the way to the bridge and past the haunted house and along the other side of the canal to retrieve his bag.

The group turned to Soon.

For a moment Soon was lost for words. In his mind he saw himself in the bushes behind the construction site happily pocketing his matchboxes of newly-caught spiders when suddenly, the gang pounced on him from behind. After an eternity of struggling, teasing and bullying, they pinned his arms down and stripped off his shorts. That was when they discovered his collection, the culmination of an entire week's work -- his king spider, queen spider and special striped devil spider. They were all his. But the gang simply confiscated them, releasing the spiders to watch them fight on the backs of their filthy hands. Engrossed in the battles, they threw his shorts back at his face and left him kicking at the grass and bushes. Thieves. Robbers.

The Group looked at Soon expectantly.

“Yeah, once they took my spiders too. Real bastards,” he answered lamely. Soon was a person of few words.

“That’s it,” Lam concluded, “We will meet at the bus stop everyday and come to school together. Eleven o’clock everyday.”

One by one the Group nodded. Even Cheng who had had no encounter with the Gang, who prided himself on never getting into any scrape. Brains, he thought, if you had brains, you could handle anyone. But he nodded anyway. As usual, Lam had the last and definitive word for everyone else.

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