Step out of Pret A Manger onto the high street holdin’ my avocado and shrimp sushi vegan wrap in one hand and a double almond milk frappe or some shite in the other, lookin’ to catch a cab home after a hard half-day’s work on a new marketing campaign for some tech start-up or whatever, and I’m lookin’ fresh in my Stone Island jacket and Balenciagas, hair slicked back, the old Ray-Bans popped on when out of the crowd of suits and weirdos some young kid in a flat cap and tweed jacket runs up to me, pulls at my sleeve and he asks in his whiney little voice “please sir, may I have some more?”. “More what, son?” I ask, crouching down to meet his eye level. He creases his eyebrows at me and shakes his head. “More fackin’ techno bangers mate, what else?”
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