Stamp collecting

It was some kind of night-time circus down on the seafront. I crawled under the tarpaulin with my bottle of Thunderbird and sat in the sawdust watching the show. People doing African dances in dresses made out of oversized leaves. A bloke came and sat on the floor next to me; he had that sweet smell of long unlaundered clothes, BO, and cheap tobacco.  When we finished the bottle he offered me a blowjob. I think I said “no”.