DROP THE BAG

‘Drop the bag,’ a man’s voice. ‘Drop the bag.’
The outside of Broadmead, just checked the window of Mastershoe.
‘Drop the bag...’
I stopped to watch what was happening - a woman running across the triple carriageway, a Sainsbury’s bag-for-life in her hand...
‘Drop the bag...’
Two men running after her, the one not shouting, ‘Drop the bag,’ spoke into a handset, I couldn’t hear what he said...
‘Drop the bag...’
They were big men, ordinary clothes, wandering stores detectives...
‘Drop the bag...’
The woman dropped the bag to the road, looked back over her shoulder - she was young - then climbed through the gap in the railings between the directions, then ran off towards St. Pauls.
The two men slowed - I wondered how long they’d’ve run for, the size of them - reached the bag, picked it up, walked back the way they’d come, looking through the clothes were in the bag.
On to the Horsefair I saw and heard a girl beggar ask a man for money, then for a bit more after he’d given her something.
‘Fuck off,’ he said, walking away. ‘Go on, fuck off.’