On my lunchbreak I went downstairs to the Spar to buy an apple.
As it was Friday, I decided to get a posh takeaway coffee to welcome the weekend and Culture Night. Noticing a tiny barbershop beside the coffeeshop and needing a haircut I went in, to be informed that only cash payments would be accepted. How very ‘Ozark’ I thought to myself. It’s highly unlikely that money is laundered through that business, but that television show has alerted me to the myriad of ways in which to sanitise money.
I crossed the road to the bank machine.
‘Is it you again?’ roared the man through the open window of his car. He alit from the vehicle, his eyes ablaze, his voice irate.
I stared at him in stupefied bewilderment.
‘You’re after dropping something on the ground.’
He thought I was a litter lout.
‘Thanks’ I replied walking back to the white item. It was a large tissue – the kind I have never used. There was no way on earth I was touching that. It could have cooties. Glancing nervously back at the flustered gentleman I could see he was shouting into his phone. He wouldn’t notice me ignoring someone else’s litter.
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