The Fool.
We watch the fool wonder past outside. Behind the windows, with the browny beery lights dimmed to an almost dark, the glow of the hot orange lamps outside illuminate his bulky uncomfortable frame. He staggers by the iron railings, falling onto them every so often, clutching the hard black points between his paw like hands. He moves without purpose, lumbering from one heavy step to the next. I ask if he's a local. Yes, he has been around recently, since the beginning of the summer. All the doors are locked, there's nothing else on the street except the huge lumbering fool. Gradually lurching towards the bus stop, a silver can in his hand, sweat forming huge stained patches on his oversized grey t-shirt. We watch him in silence, he hasn't seen us. Finally he rounds the end of the railings and disappears into the deep night dropping his can behind him