ON THE PAVEMENT

Down to Rita’s for chips and curry sauce. Parked on Stokes Croft over the cycle lane an ambulance between a police van with rear arrest cage, and in front a police car lights flashing red on and off.
A few smokers outside Mackies, watching, I must’ve come in to the play, there was nothing happening, I could see.
Up the steps into Rita’s, I stood next to the man leaning on the far counter.
‘Er,’ I said. ‘Large chips, tub of curry sauce, that’ll do,’ to the fatter of the two men serving, his light blue company tee-shirt grubby, different size cooking oil stains.
‘Salt and vinegar on the chips?’ he said a bottle poised.
‘I’ve got my own bag,’ as he reached beneath the counter.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Okay.’
Outside, having paid two-thirty for dinner, and planning to take the high road, the bottom lift stuck at three when I left the block, I stepped into a doorway from where I could watch the scene begin to unfold...
...a man’s croaky scream, ‘I’ll fucking get you for this, I’ll fucking get you later,’ into view the man each arm two police holding, only wearing boxers, the muscles in his neck, thick vein, ‘fuck off, fuck...’ the police pushed him into the cage in the back of the van, shut the doors, the van shook from side to side I couldn’t hear the man screaming or shouting or anything...
The police van and the ambulance pulled away from the kerb and I crossed the road.
An officer talking to a man I thought must’ve been involved, maybe it was his place they took the man, as I passed I heard, ‘We’ll be in touch.’
Up Ninetree Hill, left on to Dove Street where I found two teaspoons lying on the pavement, picked them up, put them in my pocket.