I watched a busker for about half an hour. Not because he was good (he was quite bad) but because I was sitting in the only warm part of the cafe and that was all I really had to look at. He was wearing a big rasta-type beanie and had red hair. He was one of the buskers who tries to sell their homemade CDs which no one ever buys. He dedicated a song to a girl walking past who, unsurprisingly, continued walking. I think he was a bit hurt by that because after the song was done he had a little break and then started playing a slower, sadder song.

Someone came by after a while and bought on of his CDs. The busker looked as though he had just received news that he was going to be a father. He was blushing and beaming. Maybe he thought he wasn’t very good.