In this city, the strangest thing is the one that's most likely to happen. Whether it's the fourteenth birthday party that was crashed by a stag do in frog costumes, the time Morgan and Devlin got into the beginning stages of The Apprentice on the back of some false CV's or DeWitt's short-lived pastry olympics of 2003, the only life lesson Morgan has really taken to heart is that somehow, the centre of this metropolis turns unexpected gold right back into dull old base.
He gazes for hours or perhaps minutes sat behind the counter in Basha cafe, Soho, his workplace, tapping his finger to the radio and trying to write. When he eventually looks down at the page, he realises he's filled it with the massive X from The X Factor several times over. He sighs and pours another skinny macchiato.
'Soho's lost it's glamour,' purrs Landry, his boss. 'I see these dreadful identi-twinks mincing up and down in their... deck shoes and their lumberjackets and their silly manbags... Seb Horsley would've taken one sneer at them and sent them packing.'
'When did you become a vegan, Landry?'
'Dear,' he rolls his tongue, 'I've always been vegan. My gang all were back then. Nobody could afford meat in the seventies. You spent your dole money on poppers and flares and that was the end of that.'
'I need something to write about for my column. I'm thinking I might write about food. You know. Because I live with a scone and a sandwich. And I'm destined to a life working in this coffe shop...'
Suddenly someone, some thing passes by the window, like a large black shadow. A large black... crow.
Morgan gives one of his usual can't care glares up at the door whenever anyone comes in, but the diamond-encrusted baseball cape and wool cape of this customer seem strangely familiar.
'Excuse me?'
Morgan stares blankly at the customer. He's a young, white, very skinny, very tall, standing next to a very tall tranny with very long hair (is it real?) and the look of someone about to burst into tears.
'A double chocolate and organic hazlenut macchiato for me and, what are you having Bren?'
The man turns to the tranny. She mumbles something inaudible.
'White filter coffee for her.'
'Yep.'
Morgan feels very strange and has a sudden urge to cover up his notepad. As he makes their coffee and Landry stares out the window picking his ear, as the steam hits his face and the reassuringly expensive coffee smell rises with a sickening novelty he feels his phone buzzing against his thigh- classsshhh. Metal, silver, crockery and enamel hit the floor, with a gravy slick of black steaming coffee. The boy screeches with laughter and the tranny sighs.
'Just bring it over when it's ready, yah?'
Landry tiptoes amongst the broken china, stepping up to serve someone else. 'For crying out loud.' Several minutes' worth of sticky coffee and a cut finger later, Morgan can't shake off the feeling off the deja-vu. He serves them their drinks and apologies, still wiping hands on his silly retro-apron.
They sit and sip their drinks as Morgan takes out the bins.
In the alley behind the shop, he sees the crow-like boy and his accomplice swagger down the street.
'Ugh,' harps the boy, thinking he's out of earshot. 'I can't believe We View Horizons Kindly's new columnist is working in a coffee bar... I have to put this in my column.'
'Do you know who that was?' cries Landry, red in the face now the cafe's empty.
'I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my plate.'
'Well.' he folds his arms and lights up a cigarette, semi-hitting Morgan. 'Haven't we all, sweetheart. That's Kyki Czukay. The Metro's frigging star columnist. The darling of the cameronite commuter class. And here's a tip for not getting fired- please please not to piss off my west London regulars who earn five times as much as you do. '
When Morgan gets back to work, he finds his pad is totally soaked with coffee.
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