Ronnie Kray has always been able to keep a straight face.

He was feared on the streets. He was glorified in the press. But no one saw what happened when the door closed.

At night he sits in the dark, his back to the mirror.

The light is unbearable, because other silhouettes begin to move in it. his own, only

Those who talk, laugh, argue among themselves.

Those who whisper: "You're not him. You're us."

He doesn't believe the doctors, he doesn't take pills.

He says it's weakness. But in the morning his hands shake as he puts on his suit. And when he finally gets up and looks in the Mirror

there he stands. But different.

And that other one smiles first.