oxford circus

I've just seen a tramp with a big ginger beard dancing in front of this tall, slim security guard outside Miss Selfridge on Oxford street and it doesn't even feel bizarre. In fact I wonder if I was completely wrong and he wasn't a tramp at all. It's hard to tell, everyone has a big beard nowadays. 

My shoes have a hole in the bottom and it's been raining pretty heavily so my sole is sopping. I wonder if people think I'm a tramp and whether I should do a dance on the security guard outside Miss Selfridge. I wanted to buy new shoes, and being on Oxford street you'd think it would be a pretty easy thing to achieve. My paranoia is such that at the moment every time I walk into a shoe shop I immediately feel the gaze of a thousand eyes upon my 'sports direct' yeezy knock offs that I turn around and walk back out again. I have no money anyway and a pair of fairly innocuous looking canvas shoes that 50 years ago would have been called plimsoles and worn by every school child in the land will now set you back at least a pound for every one of the years that has passed since that seemingly simpler time, so I can't afford it. It's only days until pay day and I've somehow managed to squander all my money on unnecessary amounts of cloudy cider and well, I'm not really sure what else? Maybe I spent the rest of the money after ingesting the cider and can't remember it? I could look at my balance sheet but the idea of doing that sets my heart racing at unhealthy speeds so I just tell myself I have no money and live in the constant certainty that the next time I use my card my payment will be declined. 

I wondered around 'Topman' men's section for about 15 minutes and for the first 10 I wanted absolutely everything in there. For the next 5 I was desperate to take a large bucket of house paint and throw it over not only all the clothes but all the men in tight, ripped jeans who thoughtlessly pick up anything that so much as catches their eye and takes it to the counter to insert their plastic, gaining an instant hit of endorphins before the guilt sets in and they realise they just bought some tat that within the next 3 months they will never want to wear again or won't be able to because it's broken beyond repair after a night out that ended in Subway having a ham sandwich