Waiting for the Number 41 to Archway. Two blokes in early 20’s dressed in sweat pants and hooded sweatshirts.
BLOKE 1: Tottenham Hale. Doesn’t get much worse than this, does it?
BLOKE 2: I dunno. We could be in Syria.
BLOKE 1: What? Don’t you think things are messed up here?
BLOKE 2: I’m just sayin’ it could be worse.
BLOKE 1: Comparisons don’t help. It just diverts attention. Don’t you think it’s bloody awful here?
BLOKE 2: I dunno. I’m grateful for what I got.
BLOKE 1: What’s that then? What you got, mate?
BLOKE 2: I got running water. I got a place to lay my head. I got…
BLOKE 1: Yeah, but thems essential things. No good comparin’. It only keeps you distracted.
BLOKE 2: I’m just sayin’…
BLOKE 1: What? What?
BLOKE 2: I’m okay wig what I got.
BLOKE 1: (turns up his collar and walks away backwards) You’re nuts. Take it easy.