Peckham Rye Station

One pisshead shouts abuse. [I'm gonna call him a pisshead on purpose and flout my knowing-better political correctness and not call him a street-drinker].

Around the corner of the station masters office a younger pisshead rips his plastic bags apart looking for something that he's lost. He throws a sandwich across the train tracks. Lettuce and grated cheese fly off. Smashes a bottle of beer on the edge of the platform, beer foaming up momentarily and then liquidising again. Empties his pockets angrily. Paces forth and back.

The other pisshead rounds the corner, goes up to the young pisshead and challenges him, takes his shirt off. The young one draws out a knife.

Concerned passengers run off to get the community police officer who was downstairs.

Things seem to calm down. The young pisshead has gone up the platform with what remain of his possessions. The shirtless one has managed to attain the other non-broken bottle of beer which he hides under his shirt. The community policeman arrives. The train comes in.

Pulling out of the station a small child stands between his parents holding a toy rifle the way soldiers on patrol do.