A peacock rustles a crisp bag. A taxi grumps past, jolting the bird with a splash of murky city water. He picks himself up and assesses the nutritional content of another piece of detritus. This is no way for a majestic beast such as me to be treated, he thinks to himself. A pair of stubby pigeons watch him from a grey gutter. One of them proffers a half-eaten sub sandwich. The peacock grimaces at the heavy smell of processed meat. Feeling no other option, he begins to chow down. The taste of the sloppy meat improves slightly as it flops down his princely gullet. That’s not so bad actually. He raises his head, plume forward, eyes in the streetlight. His tail a little shorter, his chest a little greyer, he thanks his new comrades.