EIGHTY IN CHANGE

Taking photographs I crossed the road to walk into town down the left side of Stokes Croft when I saw, up ahead, a man and a woman talking as they stood by the kerb outside Ashley News.
She looked like I wanted to see more and he looked like a drinker. I wondered if they were together and if so how come.
They parted, went their seperate ways. She walked towards me as I crouched to get a view of Upper York Street’s name and postcode on the right and a pile of rubbish on the left. I smelled patchouli as she passed. She wore a long folded cloth draped from over one shoulder to her ankle.
The man was talking to a couple who’d come from City Road. They shook their heads to whatever he was saying, ‘probably asking for money,’ I thought.
Then he approached me.
‘Excuse me, Sir,’ he said.
I kept walking with him at my side.
‘I wonder if you can help.’
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘I need eighty pence for a drink,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to lie to you.’
‘I appreciate your candour.’
W stopped and I gave him a pound coin from the money I’d got out my pocket.
‘You’ll have to have this,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got eighty in change.’