Outside the bins are stinking, uncollected; the bones and flesh and rice suppurating in the 90 degree heat. Dodgy geezers stand in the doorway of the bookies offering weed, and blue bras are visible under floral dresses.
Double astigmatism mean that the eyes are magnified to startling levels, yet I am conscious (however wrong I know it to be) of tight buttocks under the tight short red skirt. There is no 'fear not' or conciliatory words. Only honesty - meaning 'I don't know what the hell is going on!' I am not alone, this much I know.