Birds bark and bray through the silky air currents. They are not food, they are fodder for the imagination; they are the idyllic dream. Three young boys of high school age sit silently on a bench and gawk at the hawk—an aberration in the London sky. Their minds soar, separate and converge chaotically like a pack of pigeons as they are penetrated by the regality of the hawk’s features. It’s so much nobler than them. They are just a troupe of boys wracked by their overpowering sexual urges and uncertainty. A lithe, leggy black girl walks by and they are grounded again. Ribald comments are bandied as they chase after her in their anachronistic roller skates. Such is the mind of a man, pilloried by its own biological demands—best suited for coasting and sexual boasting.