The green man was flashing, beside him yellow digital numbers fell from ten. Blue Suit stopped in the middle of the crossing, head pivoting. A small kid bumped him, looked up in shock and went around, dragged by the hand and momentum of a woman who was probably his mother. The surge of pedestrians flowed around Blue Suit like a river around a stone, slowing to a trickle until he was alone. The green man disappeared. The count reached zero. Blue Suit remained in the centre of the crossing. Limo sniggered, covering his lips. The red man returned and a BMW revved, leaping forward. Blue Suit looked perplexed but stayed where he was. Horns beeped. Drivers got out of cars. It was all getting too much when Blue Suit did a strange robotic turn and went back to the shopping centre side of the road where he’d started. A driver made to follow – red in the face, trackie bottoms and XXL T-shirt. Christie grunted surprise, leant forward. The driver walked back to his car just as purposefully as he’d left, got inside and roared away. Blue Suit blinked into the faces of his fellow commuters as if they could tell him what had gone wrong. Christie backed away from the railings.

‘Classic,’ Limo said, slapping brick with an open palm.

‘Well done,’ Aaron said, meaning it. She gave a teeny smile, something less focused in her eyes. This time he tried to avoid them.

‘My turn,’ the kid said, a little too eager for Aaron’s liking. He watched him, not the road.

Hunched like a cat, slowly licking his lips, the kid’s chin rested on the cradle made by his folded arms. When he saw what he wanted he rose, stiffening. ‘This’ll be bare joke,’ he grunted through half-closed lips, nearly too low to hear. Aaron saw pure concentration, more focus than Christie.

‘Don’t do that.’ He heard her say. ‘Don’t.’ Then she turned away from the street below. Aaron alerted, slipped into the space next to Limo.

A gathering of boys about the kid’s age. Blazers and thick school jumpers, pointing. Work commuters passing, heads turned as if to view an accident, still walking towards the crossing, shaking their heads. A woman, megaphone in one hand, Bible in the other, placard at her feet – JESUS SAVES – calling God’s vengeance, pointing at the homeless man with his arms and legs wrapped around a lamp post, hips moving, slow grinding, rubbing against hard, grubby metal. Peals of laughter reached them. Aaron gritted his teeth, said nothing. When the British Transport Police approached the homeless guy Limo let him go, bringing him back to face heavy hands on his shoulder, protesting as he was led towards a waiting patrol car.

Limo slapped brick even harder, creating solitary, one-handed applause. Aaron looked back at Christie. She frowned at her box-fresh trainers, arms wrapped around her own body.

‘That’s not funny,’ he told him.