Pret a Manger, Somewhere or Other
Somewhere or Other
by Poppy Tartt
Straight off the streets of chaos and no pity, the clientele of Pret a Manger are damp around the ankles, queuing for a breakfast, one hope, one quest. Word on those streets is Pret now offers a breakfast wrap. MCs better start chatting about what’s really happening and I ain’t even talking about the weather; I think I’ve made my feelings clear about wraps in the past. I’m clocking my options in the glass case: greasy croissants rammed with ham and tomatoes, breakfast baguettes, the breakfast wrap. The strangest things can happen from wrapping. It looks like a crushed wet napkin. It’s got beans in: nuff said, surely. Beans always want to escape, like kids off an council estate; 'fuck that, I’ve got my sleeves to think of' I’m shouting at the perky foreigner who’s serving me. ‘Would you like a napkin with that?’ she hits back. I skulk off to a distant stool with my bacon and egg baguette. My palms are sweaty and these weak arms are heavy, now I’m guzzling on coffee just to keep my head straight; don’t buy tea at Pret, it’s rubbish. Pret’s plotting for a title like Eat, who’s competing. Both go easy on the coffee heavy on the foam so your cup’s light as you like, careful you don’t lose your grip and leave a stain on a businessman’s suit. The breakfast baguette is hard to remember, like a dream. Too much garlic leads to a confused state, my buds fail to return a unanimous verdict on taste. Some kid’s gone crazy with the salt and pepper shakers, thank god I bought a yoghurt for later.