that hamburger grill

Who knows who owns it, or runs it, or where it lives when it’s not in action. It’s that grungy, grimy grill you pass just after you cross Lauriston Place to walk down the foot/​cycle path through the meadows. Mostly, the whole concern consists of a man with his hands in his jacket pockets, a stack of cardboard textured, well ‘browned’, round and very flat mince patties approximately 7 items high, and various buns and sundry sauces presumably tucked safely away out of sight. Now what really impresses me about this gift to gastronomy is that despite all odds, I have often mentally counted the coins in my pocket as a walk past, just in case, (I never really would, though, you know), just in case I MIGHT have the right spare change