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I saw a small man - middle aged, about my height, no more - who was going from shop to shop all the way down the Gloucester
Road. He had a bundle of paper in his hands, and I - not quite having the courage to follow him into each shop - would stand
a short distance away from the window so that I could observe him through the glass. As he was a little small, as he approached
the counter where the shop assistant was standing, he would cough to make his presence known. The assistant would first look
up, and then around, and the tiny man would cough again in the same manner -polite but firm- until the person behind the
counter peered down to where he stood. In each shop their conversation seemed direct and brief, the assistant would nod some
sort of agreement, whereupon the little man would approach the shop window, take some cello-tape from his pocket, unfurl
a single sheet from his bundle of papers and align his poster with the window frame before firmly pressing down the tape in
a flourishing gesture of completion. Then on leaving the shop he would wave a brief acknowledgment to the clerk, and carry
on down the road.
(taken from 'The Poster Man' by Mac Dunlop)
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