Stewpot head-butted the doorbell. He did it in slow motion. He hair-butted it really. There was no sound. Misjudging the distance, he ended up bent over at a right-angle, staring at the fag-butt floor. It took him a few seconds to cotton on.
     “Coins,” he said, scanning the ground.
     In the meantime, Mitch bumped him from behind and his head rammed into the button. The cushioning of his curls delayed the doorbell, but didn’t stop it letting rip a bestial buzz, like a bee crossed with a cow. Mitch grabbed Stewpot round the waist and managed to pull him back an inch, letting the silence bloom for a few seconds before ramming Stewpot’s head back into the button.
     BUZZZZZZ!