LAMBRINI

Lambrini is the choice of the more discerning Stokes Croft street drinker or an alcoholic stop on the way to white cider.
He counted out a pile of change, begged probably, onto the stack of Evening Post’s sit between the till and the lottery terminal on the counter separates punter from retailer.
He had the smell of industrial grade alcohol that through concentrated use soaks into and is sweated out of the system of the host.
I didn’t but any Lambrini from Ashley News being too embarrassed because I’d bought some at the weekend. Instead I walked up Stokes to the twenty-four hour shop passing on the way the junction of City Road where a woman sits cross legged on the pavement.
Clothes hang from the fence behind her below the billboard says, ‘Opportunity is here,’ and there’s stuff laid out in front and to the side of her. A notice each end of the fence says, ‘Sale,’ red letters on yellow background.
She was rolling a cigarette when I wanted to say hello but I was too scared in case she wanted to talk longer than I could bear.