DIARY OF AN URBAN BOGMAN, DAY 12. Prawn Pants

“You’ll never believe what I saw the other day”, says Mick while pouring another coffee.

Black and spicy and full of life. Coffee, that is. Not Mick.

“This guy in Marks and Sparks right, a real banker, and he’s there in his fucking navy blue pinstripe suit and his nasty off–yellow tie, and I swear to god he’s shoving prawns down his trousers. Two packets, even! And these are like fifteen quid each! A–mazing!”

I chuckle, as I try to picture it.  “At least he’s shoplifting within his means”

“Who the hell would pay fifteen quid for half a dozen prawns anyway? It’s monstrous! I don’t blame him. It was a pretty funny sight though. Like, they didn’t exactly fit, in his pants I mean, so he had one in front and one in back, and then he just kinda waddled his way through the exit and nobody looked at him twice. What a man!”

I pour in some milk, to Mick’s disapproval. “Yeah, stealing from a big multinational like that isn’t really stealing is it…”

“Fuck them.”

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