Walking past an Italian restaurant. A surly looking man sits slumped at a pavement table, one arm in a sling and a can of extra strength lager at his feet. A waitress appears at the doorway to lookout for potential custom and then spies the interloper. A look of uncertainty and disapproval but no further action taken with regards to moving him on. He in turn glances at her and then resumes his gaze back into the slipstream of traffic. A moment of unspoken but fleeting tension. No trade/no charge.