Lost Property

So I struggle-disembarked from the 38 bus with a muddle of bags.  Began to cross Essex road, attention divided between traffic and excessive food shop burden.  Something solid fell in my wake.  I’d dropped something.  In the middle of the road.  Too much bloody stuff to carry.  ‘You’ve dropped something’, said a helpful pubescent-boy-voice.  I turned, and beheld a large wooden dildo on the ground behind me.  That’s not from Tesco.  That’s not mine.  ‘BANTER’ shouted the not-quite-teen boy, as he snatched it and ran off.