The man in the shop at 8.30 this morning looked pretty smart. He was wearing designer jeans, a thin trendy jumper and black-rimmed glasses. I liked his style – he was sporting the same ‘Norwegian Fisherman’ beard that I have. I stood behind him in the queue; all he bought was a bottle of Listerine. Close up, I noticed that his jumper had several holes in the back and there was a strong musty smell coming off him. When I left the shop, I drove past him round the corner. He was hiding behind a phone box, gulping down the mouthwash.
