Street Sadness

    I had just left the little supermarket and was walking up Broadway Market towards home. A little way ahead a small commotion was occuring. A large man, perhaps in his late-forties, was leaning forward, bracing himself against some or other street furniture. He was wet with perspiration and grey-faced. A harried-looking elderly woman with dyed black hair was rubbing his shoulder; she was staring up into his clenched face and saying something to him. A young girl of about thirteen stood with her arms by her side, looking on in bewilderment. The man began to shake his head. He made a small step backwards and then his legs buckled and he fell, heavily, onto his back on the pavement, his eyes half-closed. The elderly woman gave a short cry.    "Ronnie! Oh my gawd, Ronnie!"    "Dad!" yelled the young girl. Within a minute several people - obviously medically-trained - had run out of the various cafes along the strip and were kneeling beside the stricken man...

    A few nights ago I was on the Northern Line tube and a young black guy got on the train. He began pacing up and down, swinging his arms about. Then he went through a mechanical round of sitting down, standing up, sitting down again. From all of this, and the fact that he was frantically chewing a great wad of gum, it was clear that he was speeding off his chump. He stood up and began taking off his tee-shirt, which was wet through with perspiration. He balled it up and wiped his wet face with it. Then he caught my eye, and my knowing look of approval, and said, "Ah, bruv, it's fuckin' 'ot in 'ere, innit?.... I'm sweatin' like a leaf."