A shabby-looking old man wearing what looks like an ancient uniform sits on the bench across the road. Old, yes, but nowhere near old enough to have fought in the trenches (unless he’s a real-life Christopher Lambert). In his hands, he holds a styrofoam cup emblazoned with a shaky ‘lest we forget’.
It’s a slow day in the shop; I’ve been watching him all day. He’s making an absolute mint. Not that I blame him: He has identified an opportunity to exploit people’s poor math skills and seized it.
When he gets up to leave, I give him a thumbs-up.