He’s leaning against a wall, drinking coffee from a flask.

I should really get a proper coffee machine, dammit. This instant stuff tastes like sh…
Probably shouldn’t say that round ‘ere. Mrs. Lyall will come running out ‘er house, brandishing that bloody umbrella at me, shaming me for using ‘foul language around our kiddies’.
I really do meet some nutters as a bin man. Everyone just ignores you, thinkin’ you’re part o’ the scenery, and they got no clue that you see all.
I was round ol’ Mr. Biggins’ place just yesterday, emptying his bins as I do every Monday, and I saw Amy and Bradley arguing down the alley to the allotments. Proper yellin’ as well! Only meself and Sue know about them being a couple.
Amy’s only fifteen. And she’s going round with Bradley, a thumpin’ nineteen year old. She’s a nice girl, really, but she tends to try and look older than she is…
Bradley’s not exactly a good lad neither… he’s been in a few sticky spots with the police and whatnot, and he’s been suspended from Granger High a couple of times.
Amy, bless ‘er, has such a pretty face and a good heart, but she can be carried away with the tide and rush of things. You’d have thought that after Liam, she’d a learnt her lesson, but doesn’t appear so.

Takes gulp of coffee and swirls the cup of his flask around.

Maybe Siobhan will get me a coffee maker for Christmas. One of them fancy jobs, with the different settings for whatever coffee you want. That’d be nice.

Pause.

I should probably let Brendan know that Mr. Peters went into hospital yesterday. There was a big ambulance outside his house – Mrs. Peters was doing that weird jittery thing with ‘er fingers again, like she always does when she’s nervous. I seen that a lot recently. She’s been more nervous than usual. Mebbes it’s these ridiculous estate agents knocking on her door day and night.
They’re real interested in that house of ‘ers. It’s a proper mansion that thing, and it’s only her and Mr. Peters living there. Mr. Peters will probably be pushed off into some Home thing soon anyways, so then it’ll only be ‘er.
I can see why they’re interested, but it’s a bit mean of ‘em really. Harassing ‘er day and night, asking questions and such like. She’s 77, and that age, a smaller place is probably a bit more practical, but she’s a happy lady. She’s got her heart in the right place and she don’t chase little kids away down her front path if they come for an apple that’s dropped from ‘er tree. She always invites them in and cleans their apples for ‘em and gives ‘em a Bourbon to take away.
She’s gettin’ on a bit, but she knows everyone’s name round ‘ere still.
Opal bumped into ‘er the other day and Mrs. Peters says: “Eee. I haven’t seen you for the longest time! How’re you doin’ m’love? Jamie and Eve doin’ good in school still? Eee, that’s good.”
Opal was a tad on the surprised side, I’m not pausing to say. The last time those two met… well, it gotta be at least four years!
Mrs. Peters still knows me too. I empty ‘er bins every other Tuesday, and she always leaves me a wrapped piece of whatever cake she’s got in that pantry of ‘ers by the flowerpot. She waves to me as I’m walking past and she sometimes comes out and has a little old-lady natter about this and that.
It’ll be a shame when Mrs. Peters ain’t around anymore.

Glances at his watch under his heavy gloves.

Ooops. Run a bit over time with my coffee break. Not much of a coffee as such mind.