Fella came into the shop last week; one of the semi-regulars, someone we’ll see maybe every two or three months. Small, bad skin, ill-fitting leather jacket. You know the sort.
“Hello Steve,” I said. “How have you been?”
I should point out that Steve buys only a particular type of publication from us; he’s very into pictures of large-breasted women in very skimpy outfits. Who isn’t, though?
“Rotten,” he says. “Bastard Mayans said the world was gonna end, so I took out a bank loan and blew it all on a week with a dominatrix. Thought I wouldn’t have to pay it back ‘cause the world was gonna end. World didn’t end, I’m up to me arse in debt. Fucking Mayans.”