Willoughby Road Pharmacy

When you suspect you’ve got the Black Plague it pays to have a pharmacy just a short stagger from your front door.
I bowled into this place looking like a dark ages beggar in old boots, thermals, a tatty scarf and dark bulky hood and coat. I fell to my knees and cried «Sanctuary!» before realising that only applies to churches and asking the guy behind the counter to help me. Far from shying away in horror at my ravaged countenance he politely and calmly informed me of all my options, explained the difference between certain drugs, took a stab at the oft-​cynical and greedy nature of the pharmaceutical industry and sent me on my way with a pocket of over-​the-​counter drugs designed to help get me back on my feet.
If it wasn’t certain to have infected him I would’ve kissed the guy.