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“The driver nods and yanks the steering wheel like an old quack pulling out a molar, bumping us up onto the kerb. We stop beside a stall selling juice. Lesley and I approach the proprietor, who’s got a generous supply of teeth. Most of them seem to be vying for a seat up the front where the view’s better. He’s stuffing ripe oranges down the throat of a large trembling juicer. It’s whirring, grinding, and gushing a copious flood of juice into a bucket. Unfortunately, the bucket’s got a halo of flies. Lesley, not wanting to offend the man, leans closer to me and whispers, ‘It looks a bit unhygienic.’ ‘Unhygienic? Lesley, I can actually see a blue bottle washing shit off his feet with the juice.” — Paul Donaldson
The driver nods and yanks the steering wheel like an old quack pulling out a molar, bumping us up onto the kerb. We stop beside a stall selling juice. Lesley and I approach the proprietor, who’s got a generous supply of teeth. Most of them seem to be vying for a seat up the front where the view’s better. He’s stuffing ripe oranges down the throat of a large trembling juicer. It’s whirring, grinding, and gushing a copious flood of juice into a bucket. Unfortunately, the bucket’s got a halo of flies. Lesley, not wanting to offend the man, leans closer to me and whispers, ‘It looks a bit unhygienic.’
‘Unhygienic? Lesley, I can actually see a blue bottle washing shit off his feet with the juice.