Paula is such a tragic creature. Look at her cutting the ends off the sausages rolls. That neck brace. I’d never wear one of those. She has to bend and twist from the waist now to move. Neck braces really are the most pathetic of medical aids and I once bought a cock-up splint.

She’s dropped a bit on the floor. What’s she going to do about that? This should be good. She’s twisting from side to side and moving backwards. Her cheeks are being pushed up giving her eyes an even more piggy appearance. Even if I broke my neck completely I wouldn’t wear one of those things. She’s given up and looking for the sausage- No, she’s trod on it. She’s stepped back again and is twisting faster but still…

I can’t watch that any more

Enrique? There he is. It’s quiet in here today or are my ears blocked? I can see that he’s chuckling but I can’t quite hear it properly. I can hear my finger rubbing the inside of my ear. And there’s a crackling when I yawn. I’m not deaf, that’s a relief. Enrique’s looking at me and he’s reading the back of a packet of cornflakes and laughing. I can’t hear him. There’s nothing funny on the back of a packet of cornflakes. Even though it’s rude I smile as he talks and just turn away and look out of the window. The main road is quite busy. People driving places. I’m gong to have somewhere to drive soon, I’m not going to do this for the rest of my life. Let Paula and Enrique rot here like his car is rotting out there.

The sheen has well and truly come off Enrique’s Cadillac. The roof has a patch of new dull skin where the old shiny skin has somehow peeled away. There’s a bird shit on the side window. They’re the only parts of it I can see. The shitty roof and the shit. It’s baked on. It’s been roasting the last few days but it must’ve rained last night as there are dark patches of damp on the tarmac around the bottom of the wall. I didn’t hear it if it did. I might use the barbecue this weekend. I wonder if Enrique knows any good marinades? I suppose he does, being foreign. I’ll need to clean the barbecue first. That’s a shitty job.

I refocus on the window itself and the magazine rack underneath it. We stock magazines on surfing and celebrities and puzzles and trains and cats and then I’m looking at Paula again. She’s laughing. Enrique is showing her the box that he found hilarious. Seems like it actually was. I’ll check it out later. I’m thirsty, am I? I think I am but I’ll have a cigarette instead. I hate drinking. Apart from wine. I’ll steal a bottle of pink wine for tonight as it’s the best of both worlds and perfect for the summer. I’ll go over and look at the bottles in a minute. See which ones I haven’t tried. A nice pink pink one. Not an orangey pink one.

A person has come in. The person struts confidently towards the chiller. My money’s on milk. Nobody buys ham at 10am. I was right. Two green. I should have guessed the colour too. I’ll do that for the next person I think is going to buy milk.

The person is in front of me and I ask him if that’s everything. He nods while rummaging in his pocket. I scan the milk and tell him the total but he already knows the total as he’s already completed counting out the correct currency. He’s bought two pints of milk before. He hands the money over and doesn’t look like he wants to wait for me to count it. I don’t. I let it slide off my hand into the till not caring where it goes. Trust. With a brief smile the person has gone.

Paula is looking out of the window and Enrique has gone into his office.