Friday evening. When the young and the hopeful throng the streets, eager to notice, to be noticed, to be noteworthy, possibly to be notorious.
There is no better place than outside McDonalds to gauge the pulse of the youth. To see an entire cross-section of society, or at least a cross-section of one particular section of society that looks mostly the same, except for differences in shirt colour (males) or ability to totter upright convincingly (females).
Like Attenborough with the bats, it's a chance to surreptitiously observe the fashions and interests of a crowd it would probably be fascinating, but impossible, to join. To see what they get up to. What drives them. What they talk about with their peers. While trying not to show weakness or fear, I cast a glance towards a particularly intriguing group.
It's belly buttons, apparently. Belly buttons are where it's at.
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