Just around the corner from my studio, there's (allegedly) a local "House of Ill Repute". There's a senior member of staff on duty there...
...but it seems he has to make his excuses and go for a breath of air at certain busy moments. So he's often to be seen sitting in his doorway in Greek Street, surveying the scene, closely observing the passers-by.
Like Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat, he establishes control by a regular patrol.
Whenever I pass, I say "Hello, brothel cat!". "Prrt?" he replies, in a determinedly unimpressed tone of voice.
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