They are really boys, the two men. They are harmless, but I want to keep my distance. Underneath the streetlight, they hold each other by the arms and make massive leaps to avoid the puddles.
So much so that the lady who is placing my Pringles into my tote bag becomes frozen in this action, surveying the duo by the doors who I can only make assumptions as to what they are doing. Dancing in front of the security camera, putting on a show for themselves. Oh look, we’re stealing. Novelty! They’re singing, and I always put this to them being under the influence but what if it was just joy without a 4.0 percent cider that had them aiming for the same note? Until they disappear into the flats, and the lights of Diwali have marked their absence just the shots that we don’t fear, I haven’t even pressed play.