A Bobby for Breakfast

It’s market day, and we’re at the breakfast van waiting grabbing a snack before we jump on a train. The food itself is excellent value and we grab a table in the middle of a hustling and bustling day of trade. As we have our suitcases with us, we seem to take it in turns, despite me offering to order for my friend. As my tea is served, I'm conscious that my friend needs to order, so instead of trying to reach the sugar bowl which is hidden amongst the locals on a side shelf who seem to think it’s a bar, I return to the table. There's a family of three next to us who have been there a while, all smoking fags and wearing matching shell suits. The local runner circles our patch three times evidently looking for some local contact. Then the local Bobby pulls up on his bicycle.