The last of the rain's still running along the cracks at the side of the road, disappearing. The sun's in his eyes as he turns to face Cesare. He squints, frowning. "Who shit in your breakfast then?" The dog's yipping at his feet but he leaves it behind with another touch to its head, taking three, four steps, further out of Margate, turning back around to Cesare. "You coming or what." Bastard.