Swimming lessons

I suspected I was slightly out of my depth in Peckham. I saw crime, poverty and maladjustment in the people who passed me. They saw out-of-placed-ness and in me. I asked for mushrooms at a market stall and the seller shook his head in disgust.

I stopped at a cashpoint. No-one was around. Beth Gibbons cried in my ear. My imagination began to wander. A man came to the machine next to me. I shouldn’t have my music so loud. I smelt drink. Deafness was making me vulnerable. The alcohol guy left and another man came. I was imagining somebody doing the “Excuse me I think you’ve dropped something” trick on me. Then, “Oi, mate, mate!” This was happening. Bellowing beside me. I span round. But he was saying, “Your money!” and holding out a tenner to the alcohol guy.

Somebody teach me to swim.