In your spring hat, tied with lost string, you search the free paper for clues to which day you now finds yourself waiting. And, as you well knows, waiting on the corner beat today in the rain for the next delivery, is getting you plenty of disturbed glances from local windows and trolley men...the steady clump of your wet shoe against cracked kerbstone drunk is also shadowing a high street roaring with anger over closure and debt and is where even the most fucked up has memories when called upon.
So; you's been shadow hunting. You fucker. Isn't nice. Know what I means? And it sure doesn't look as if it is going to end well either, because peoples already got their mobiles out and others are instinctively putting their hands over stash's and stolen wallets.
From one of the stickered shop windows a tidy looking young women is shaking a weary head at the nasty row growing on the pavement outside. It was always about dodgy deals and money owed. Always. And always the same exhausted faces. Sound of blues fast approaching up the street usually moves on most, but not all. And CCTV[s] are already being clicked off, wiped or removed.
And all the time is snatch's of stoned smiles floating through smoked windows of passing stolen number plates. Everyone knows the street cliche's and seems to love them round here. And not ironically, ironically.
