Peckham Street Drinkers

"fuck off you cnuts", the highpitched yet strangely resonant slow drawl shouts. I look across, its a man with a beige sweatshirt tied around his head, brandishing a plastic bottle of cider, kicking out at the pigeons.

He sees me looking. "See they want to steal my food", he gestures at his laid out cloth with half a loaf and some bags. "Are they French? Where do you think they are from?" he asks. I half smile but he doesn't wait for my answer, "where do you think? Buckingham Palace?" he chuckles, "Trafalgar Square?"

He's not as out of it as he first appears maybe. As I round the corner he is joined by his mate, a man with his hair in 3 dreadlocks - one huge matted one on top and two huge matted ones on either side.