<strong>Tuesday 13th August 10:45<br/><br/>Pavement Outside Unit 17, Ferguson Street<br/><br/>Jessica</strong><br/><br/>With a cardboard rack of cupholders in each hand you hurry across the damp pavement towards J Honer And Sons.  Thee Cappuccinos - one with ginger.  Two Lattes.  One Green Tea.  No partridges in pear trees, but all coming up on two hours late.  You're going to have to make them complimentary, you realise.  The almost thirty quid a day that Honer's spend on its two coffee deliveries is probably worth keeping.  Such humdrum thoughts occupy you to the extent that you walk round the car without even realising it.<br/><br/>The car in question is an expensive BMW which has been parked perpendicular to the pavement - rear wheels on the pavement, front half out blocking one lane of the street.  But you're distracted and don't immediately register, instead crossing the road to the building opposite.<br/><br/>Or the chare where the building was at least.  You double take for a moment, confirm that Units 16 and 18 are in their long-accustomed positions, then resume your study of the litter strewn alley between the two.  Bright red graffiti confirms that they all know you did it.  Abandoned cigarette tabs have a less easy to decipher statement.<br/><br/>Suddenly there's a beep behind you, causing you to jump and spill coffee cups all over the floor.  The car - parked directly opposite the location of Honer's as if on a particularly obvious police stakeout - winds down a window letting a cloud of earthy smoke out (it's impossible to be a student without recognising the smell.  Marijuana.)  A cultured and almost accentless voice shouts out:<br/><br/>"Hey.  Coffee girl. Sorry about that."<br/><br/>Then repeats "coffee girl" to itself and giggles.