"Big Tissue, sir?"I eye the gentleman brandishing a wad of magazines with no little suspicion.
"Wait… WHAT?"
"Big Tissue, sir?"
"Surely you mean 'Big Issue'? You ARE an official Big Issue seller, aren't you? You appear to be remarkably well dressed to be homeless."
"Up until last week sir, yeah. They've had a rebrand an' we're coinin' it in. Big Tissue, sir?"
"And what, pray, did this rebrand entail?"
"To be honest, sir, if you bought one copy of the old mag you've seen 'em all, an' it was getting' harder an' harder to sell the bloody things."
To be perfectly honest, the man has a point.
"You have a point. Proceed."
"So we've switched to hardcore pornography. Tits, arse, flange, the works. An' there's a ready an' willing supply of models in the homeless community for our Hobos' Wives section, if you don't mind me saying. Big Tissue, sir? Comes with a free tissue."
How could I resist such a determined sales pitch? I part with my money and hie myself to the nearest venue that offers a modicum of privacy to examine my purchase, for eg the ladies' changing rooms in a nearby branch of Marks and Spencer.
"Dear The Big Tissue, I never thought I had a chance with that sexy tramp under the arches in Hounslow until the day she came knocking on my cardboard shelter asking me for the price of a cup of tea. Before we knew it…"
WOW.
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