You're a City banker. You're walking across a plaza in the City or in Canary Wharf on your way to an important meeting with another City banker. You're silently planning exactly how you're going to convince your secretary to go to the pub with everyone after work (what if she brings her boyfriend?). You realize your trousers haven't been pressed in three weeks. And you wander across this:
Do you assume they're just another rag-tag bunch of buskers?