Something was going on this morning. At around 8am, I noticed that people seemed to be hanging around aimlessly at strategic points on Meeting House Lane. There was a girl on the corner of Carlton Road, another two girls next to the betting shop, all looking around like they were trying to make out that they did exactly this at 8am every day, and there was nothing unusual about sitting on a street corner, staring into space.

The Shop That Never Opens was open, with burly men filling out the doorway, throwing evil looks at anybody who might mistake it for a shop that, you know, sells stuff. All that was fairly par for the course, but the usual aimless millers-around of Peckham tend to leave it later in the day before they get the urge to loiter; 8am is a bit early, even for the most hardcore miller-about. Then a boy who seemed to be attached to the shop yelled at his friend further down the road.Now, you’d expect the friend to walk over, but no, he was glued to the spot, nervous eyes on the police station across the road…

It’s probably nothing, and we probably won’t hear any more of it, but you know…

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