The Coffee Con


I am in London, there’s a cafe in a park. I want a coffee but there’s a queue. I see that they have a separate counter in the middle of the park. I order there. The Spanish guy who serves me doesn’t have change for a tenner and goes off to get some.

He’s quite a while. I realise he’s probably not coming back. I go to the main counter to complain, and get my coffee. They explain that it’s nothing to do with them, even if it looks like it is. I realise I’ve been conned. I wander around the area looking for the conning bastard.

I realise that I have limited time before my bus. He probably counts on this. If he does this on average once an hour he can make ยฃ80+ per day! depending on the notes he’s given and how often he returns.

I’m wearing tartan shorts, and a very long tartan shirt. I follow a Chinese guy who is getting lost, walking up buildings and along cobbles.

๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ‡ธ

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