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This one time, saw a bird on the corner – proper fit, yeah? – and I’m thinkin’, “Is it ’cos I is black?” ‘Cos the coppers kept rollin’ by, givin’ her the eye, but not me! Turns out, she’s been at it since she was 16 – sixteen, bruv! That’s dark, like Tyrone in the movie, shootin’ up, dreamin’ big, then bam – life’s a mess. Made me angry, that – system’s fucked, lettin’ kids fall through like that.

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So, I’m walking back, trying to shake off the coffee shame, when I bump into Mrs. Thompson. She’s this sweet old lady who lives on Tennyson Street. She’s got this garden that could win awards, I swear. Anyway, she starts telling me about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he’s gone missing. I’m like, “Oh no, not Mr. Whiskers!” I mean, who doesn’t love a good cat story?

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