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About Manchester

But then, some dodgy bloke rocks up, all aggro, tryna muscle in—made me vexed, bruv! I’m like, “Mate, chill, I ain’t here for beef!” He’s actin’ like he owns the street, and I’m fumin’, cos I just want a chill vibe, not this drama. “Is it ’cos I is black?” I shout, half-jokin’, half-pissed, and he legs it—coward! Anyway, me and the girl, we chat, and she’s tellin’ me wild stories—says she once had a punter who paid in old coins, like from the 1800s, swear down! I’m gobsmacked, thinkin’, “What past life was that geezer from?”

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After that, I decide to grab a coffee at this little café on Market Street. It’s called The Coffee House or something. I walk in, and it’s packed. I mean, who knew Newton Abbot had such a caffeine addiction? I finally get my flat white, and it’s like liquid gold. I take a sip, and boom! Happiness overload.

16:54 Newton Abbot