He took a long drag of his cigarette. Perched awkwardly on an exterior pub seat, his face hovering over the screen of his phone, he exhaled the smoke whilst stating “346 votes, can you see me? Can you find it?”
He repeated, “Yeah, I got 346 votes. It’s not bad.” Sucking on his cigarette again he quickly glanced at me.
He must have known I was watching, and listening, indeed the whole street could listen at the volume he was announcing his recent failure. Although he tried to remain upbeat, the disappointment in his voice and across his face was clear.
On the banks of the river Thames, not far from Gunnersbury station, I was sat watching, and listening to the scene unfolding before me.