The Argus Newsagents

My saving grace at work, this newsagent’s just opposite and I’m in and out of here daily to stock up on trashy magazines and cigarettes to accompany my lunch.
Today’s gripping real life story included graphic pictures of raw electrocuted flesh. A perfect accompaniment to my leftover spaghetti bolognese.
The shop itself is tiny, one of those box-​room newsagents crammed to breaking point of daily essentials.
The little man who runs it is very friendly, until you try to pay on your card when there isn’t enough on it. He also told me I didn’t need to buy butter one evening on the way back from the gym because I was fat enough. I was not amused.
I did have my massive bulky parker on though, and he was very apologetic when he saw the red in my eyes. Curiously, he’s been overly friendly ever since!