Hot tub

345. 6pm. Bottom deck, in the back on the left.

Viewed from my window: a man waiting at a south London bus stop. His white belly was hanging out of his drawstring shorts. A line of sweat tracked its way down his front. He was sucking on a cigarette, and he looked a little woebegone.

But! In the bag at his feet: a box containing a brand-new blow-up hot tub. On the side of the box was a colour-saturated photograph of a sexy man and a sexy woman, in revealing yet easy-going swimwear, relaxing together in a shimmer of bubbles.

Good on you friend! Let’s call it an investment.


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