Cafe, Roman Road. 2nd February

The builder has one arm over the back of his chair as he chats to three middle-aged women at the next table. He keeps chipping in uninvited and in turn they sharply take the piss between sips of coffee and knowing looks. One takes a red summer dress out of her shopping bag and holds it up for her friends’ approval. He pivots his head to have a look

“Oh right. Where did you get that then?”

She sighs theatrically - “Il Sorrentina.”

“Oh. Fancy. Abroad?”

“In Streatham. Down South. It’s a shit hole.”

“Oi!” He cries, “I’m from Streatham”

She shrugs, her friends laugh.

“Is he bothering you girls?” says the owner behind the counter, “You bothering my customers again?”

“Oh here we go,” he says, “She’s always got her bloody ears open.”

“Yeah, ain’t it a shame I have to with you about.”

As he protests his innocence, the owner rolls her eyes and mutters. The women laugh and sip their coffee.

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