After walking several blocks in the cool drizzle, he felt we must be getting close. Our desultory sodden progress was eventually rewarded by serendipity. Based on a whim, we ascended to the third floor of another fading colonial building and blundered into Omar’s flat.

The stairwell and its surroundings made the Peckham Estate look like Knightsbridge.
Omar’s home was small, but dry, and far more comfortable and ordered than his friend’s. Its working flush toilet contrasted favourably with the open sewer sequestered behind a filthy curtain with which Luis made do.

We dined on what was possibly Omar’s entire weekly food supply – a plain but wholesome combination of cold meats, cheese and fruit. Night had now fallen, and the steady hours of drinking had sapped the day of further possibilities. Luis sat slumped in the corner like a small, spent volcano. We left our hosts after many warm and prolonged embraces and endearments.
With a flash of inspiration, Luis made a final gesture of generosity on behalf of his friend. With the comic, exaggerated stealth of a cartoon character, he tip-toed behind Omar and slipped one of the weighty family heirlooms from the mantelpiece and into my pocket. He complemented his larceny with a cheeky conspirational wink. I slipped it back when neither of them was looking.