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So, picture this – dusty joint, red curtains, smell o’ cheap perfume. Girls gigglin, punters stumblin in, wallets out. I reckon it’s wild, right? Cosmic chaos in a tiny room. Used to piss me off – blokes treatin’ em like meat. But then, chat with a lass there once, sharp as a tack, she was. Said, “I run my orbit, Hawking.” Blew my mind! She’s no victim, controllin’ her stars.

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First customer walks in. It’s this dude, all hipster vibes, with a beard that could house a family of squirrels. He orders a flat white, and I’m like, “Sure, mate, coming right up!” But the machine’s like, “Nah, not today.” I’m sweating bullets, trying to fix it. I’m cursing under my breath, thinking, “Why today of all days?”

Six people injured after being hit by car in north London