Street Pig

A sofa has replaced the bench that the council took away to prevent further disturbances. The drunks and hangers on and hangers out outside the battered old bike shop overflow from the arms of fake, pinkish velvet, squabbling over the embrace of the centre spot. Dogs gather round the seat front, hoping for a drop of sweet, special brew, or a vinegar crisp kiss, as though suckling on the belly of some obscenely fertile street pig. "Ahh, bless 'em," says a local, lamenting the loss of the bench, admiring the innovation of the street dwellers, and understanding the need for the succour of the sofa in the street.