The man on the opposite platform whom I see every morning in the rush hour. I look at him. He appears to look at me. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt but I’ve seen him in a suit before. And yes, there’s something I can’t put my finger on that draws me to keep looking at him.
The homeless man selling The Big Issue. On the back of his vest is printed WORKING NOT BEGGING.
The homeless gathered on the Strand every evening where free food is dispersed from about 7pm. An incongruous location, just down from Charing Cross police station and opposite the Zimbabwe embassy, outside Rymans the stationers.
The madding crowds that throng London’s West End – in which I work. Me, in smart casual attire that could pass as upmarket tourist garb, especially as – since my work bag was stolen – I’m currently using a carrier bag to carry my stuff.
The siren call of the wine rack at Marks & Spencer. I settle for a nameless Italian red, slightly less strong than usual at 12%. At £5 it’s table wine but surprisingly drinkable.