Three Minutes in Shepherd's Bush

London, Uxbridge Road, 4:17 p.m.

The Somali café has four tables outside. Two women at the corner one, both in hijab, one in a purple abaya that catches the light. The other keeps lifting her tea, putting it down without drinking.

"Walahi, it's too sweet today."

"It's the same. You just didn't eat lunch."

"I ate." She pushes the cup toward the center of the table. "Taste it."

The other woman doesn't move. "I made the same tea this morning. It's fine."

A kid in a Chelsea hoodie weaves between pedestrians with a football, tapping it heel-to-toe. He clips someone's shopping bag. "Sorry, sorry." Doesn't slow down. The woman he hit doesn't look up from her phone.

The hair shop door opens. A woman leans in the frame, waist-length box braids, scrolling. The door closes. Thirty seconds later it opens again different person, checking prices on synthetic bundles in the window. The door closes. The first woman still there, still scrolling.

Two men come out of the Polish deli with blue plastic bags. One bag splits at the bottom seam. A jar of pickles hits the pavement but doesn't break. The man picks it up, checks it, puts it in the other man's bag. They keep walking.

The Algerian grocer drags a crate of mint onto the pavement. The smell cuts through everything, fried chicken from Morley's, car exhaust, someone's cigarette. He stacks another crate on top. The mint gets crushed. The smell gets stronger.

Across the street, Nutcase has almonds in the window display, cashews, pistachios still in shells. A man stands in front of the glass pointing at something on the top shelf. The shopkeeper climbs a stepladder. The man changes his mind, points lower.

A bus pulls up. The brakes hiss. Six people get off, two get on. The bus pulls away and now you can see the other side of the street again, a woman pushing a pram with one hand, holding a phone to her ear with the other, speaking Tigrinya fast enough that the words blur together.

Two girls walking toward the station, sharing earbuds. One earbud each. The taller one says something in French, the other one shoves her shoulder, laughing. They have to stop walking to untangle the wire.

A siren starts somewhere past the roundabout. The traffic slows but doesn't stop. The woman with the pram keeps walking. The man at Nutcase gets his bag of nuts. The café door opens again.

The woman in the purple abaya finally picks up her tea. She drinks it. Puts the cup down.

"See? Too sweet."

Her friend doesn't answer. Just pulls out her phone.