Market Demand
The doorbell rang last night. Wow, thats a forgotten pleasure. Most people announce their presence by shouting in the street. So I drop my dry sandwich and rush downstairs in a fit of uncool eagerness.
A hopeful adolescent stood in the hallway, looking a bit uncertain at my raffish squalor.
"Is that your Mazda out back?" He asked. Oh no... Don't tell me it's been vandalised again....
Yes it is, I responded.
"You thinking of selling it?" He enquired nervously. I stared for a second with raised eyebrows. Full marks for chutzpah, but a hot sportscar (albeit a castrated one) at his age? I realise how much he'll suffer. Putting the car back together will cost him far more than he realises, the car is far more demanding to drive than he realises, and the police will be demanding him to stop every five yards.
No, I answered with considerable finality. He left, disconsolate, his dreams of impressing his mates and pulling the girls broken. Poor lad. Never mind, he'll find a cheap hatchback somewhere and find his freedom. Just like I did at his age.
Sandwich of the Week
Returning upstairs, I grit my teeth to consume the dry sandwich. Bread isn't too expensive I suppose, but so often it's been stored in freezers before sale and it dries out when thawed. Worse still is the cheese. The packaged slices I used to buy have doubled in price since the recent supermarket inflation, so I've no choice but buy these new 'singles' packs. At 50p for ten, you can't argue.
Or so I thought. When you finally extricate them from their clever cancerous plastic wrapper, you get a quivering plastic cheese substitute that doesn't taste of anything at all. I demand cheap cheese! Real dairy produce, stuff that smells of cheese, tastes like cheese, and doesn't vibrate on its own accord.
All I need now is a dog called Grommet.
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