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Anybody gon’ see us sprayin’ there, they jus’ think we got official permission. High visibility less arrestibility, right?
    First up, we pass by our friendly neighbourhood Community Police. They always stop and say hello, like they part of your innermost crew. One big fat man we call Compo ( Com munity Po lice, get me?) on account of him havin’ a stinkin’ attitude and all. Don’t get me wrong, some of them are all right, jus’ wanna make sure the littl’uns are safe on the street and ain’t no old ladies gettin’ their bags snatched, but Compo one of these wannabe Robocops, swaggerin’ in body armour and jackboots. Compo always fidgetin’ with his extendable baton like he gonna make himself blind. Wishin’ he have can of pepper spray tucked into his utility belt, when it jus’ be aluminium water bottle, on account of protectin’ the community bein’ such thirsty work. Lucky for us, you can’t buy pepper spray on eBay – which I’m certain is where he gets his other gear from. I mean, what kind of sane person goin’ to equip a fat fool like Compo with a extendable baton?
    Man, Compo always wantin’ to keep a close eye on the likes of me and Mus.
    Poo!
I’m holdin’ my nose as we walk past.
Someone gone and let one off!
    Mustaph waftin’ the air in front of us, like he dispersin’ the stink.
Nahh, that just ol’ Compo. Always smell like that, get me?
    Compo hate it when we do this. But in public ain’t nothin’ he can do to us, jus’ fidget with his utilities like he the cock of the walk. Compo once tried to cuff Big Auntie for bein’ too loud when she was cussin’ some perv who’d been followin’ young girls back from school. Ain’t nobody goin’ to cuff Big Auntie, not least in the name of safeguardin’ the neighbourhood. Compo soon enough uncuffed her and was apologizin’ big time to the family and friends who was mobbin’ him on all sides.
    We snigger past him.
Hey, Compo, found any of them stolen dogs?
    We goin’ past a bench in front of the bushes and see a beast. First up, I’m thinkin’ maybe it a Rottweiler, crippled by a speedin’ car, limpin’ along in the shade. We get closer, curiosity leadin’ our feet when our brains oughta know better. It ain’t no dog. Is a man, hunched up, lookin’ sick as a puddle of vomit, face like a walkin’ dead, jaw hangin’ loose and spit droolin’ down. He’s on his hands and knees. He is white as snow. White and sick. We stop to look. One arm ain’t bein’ used to crawl, just hangin’ limp, and he got a bloodstain seepin’ through his shirt sleeve. He lifts his head and gives a feeble shriek. Like he’s terrified, but exhausted with it.
    Mustapha goes
Mr Bush?
All surprised, like he never recognized this man until the last second. His face says he still ain’t too certain.
Mr Bush?
    Figure whimper, like he ain’t got no words inside of him. I’m rememberin’ everythin’ Sis said about hard drugs and Soft Stuart and thinkin’ to myself
Oh dear
. I’m squintin’ down at the blood stainin’ his shirt sleeve. Like he had a needle stuck in there. Tug at Mustaph’s arm to keep movin’, sayin’
Druggie
and lookin’ disgusted.
    Mustaph shake off my grip.
Naah
he says.
Mr Bush?
    But Mr Bush ain’t got nothin’ to say and I repeat
He’s a druggie. Come on, let’s go
.
    My mutt is sniffin’ round druggie man’s feet and whinin’. I’m clickin’ my fingers at him, get him move away. I don’ wan’ my dog puttin’ his paws on no needles.
    But Mustaph say
Mr Bush ain’t no druggie. He lives on the floor below. He works for the church. He’s always comin’ roun’, pesterin’ about jumble sales and tombolas and sponsored walks when I’m tryin’ to get me some sleep. The dude’s a Christian. Christians don’ do no drugs
.
    Hmm.
Maybe he just had a epiphany, ya get me?
    Mustaph frowns and says all dry
Yo’ a funny man, Marshmallow, ain’t ya?
    Mr Bush looks like he’s made a long crawl from The Finger all the