Holding a small cube of sugar to the surface of his strong, syrupy Turkish coffee, he watched it turn brown before letting it drop it into the demitasse. Picking up his teaspoon, he began carefully stirring his coffee, eyeing the small band of anti-war protestors as he did so.What a rabble, he thought. There were maybe seventy people taking part, at the very most, with almost as many police in attendance. All they were doing was holding up the traffic and preventing normal, law-abiding people from going about their business as they made their way slowly down the middle of the road, heading towards Hyde Park and a rally at Speakers’ Corner. All the usual banners that he’d become familiar with recently were there: Socialist Worker, Stop the War Coalition, Students for Justice, etc., etc., carried by sallow, ill-looking people you would cross the road to avoid; all in all, nothing more than a bunch of pathetic, disorganised, ego-crazed losers.He took a sip of his coffee and let the sweetness soften his mood.
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