“Mars bar, please.”

“60p.”

“Cheers.”

there’s no reason to call. I passed out on the floor. Smoked myself stupid and drank my insides raisin dry.

But at the right place, at the

“Can I have a bottle of Fanta please, mate?”

“£1.50.”

“Got change for a fiver?”

“Yeah.”

I won’t have to quit doing fucked up shit for

NOTES:
I wanted to do something a little different, because it's only been two characters since a shop assistant last had their hands on the pound coin. Instead of developing another backstory for a character who's really only a conduit for the coin to pass between unconnected strangers, I decided to play around with the style. I did consider writing some of these bits in the first person, but in the end, this was the nearest I got. We don't hear the vendor's thoughts, but we do hear what he is hearing, which is "Private Eye" by Alkaline Trio, a song I was listening to a lot at the time I wrote it. I tried other songs, but this was the best fit.