Last night as I was going to bed I heard shouting on the street. I looked through the slats in the blind and saw a young man in a shalwar kameez standing in the middle of the road- too far away for me to make out his face or catch any words- shouting at one of the houses on our side of the street. He had a silver saloon parked opposite. Every so often he would make as if to get into the driver's seat, but then remember something more he needed to say and return to say it. Sometimes he would accompany the invective with kung-fu moves, chopping with his arms, kicking out his legs. Then we heard the throbbing of a police siren- and next time I looked both he and the car were gone.