Magazine, 20 cents

When I’m feeling blue, or at a loose end late at night, I sometimes go to the supermarket. Not to wander the aisles in a stupor but to buy maybe a single mango or carton of milk as an excuse to stand there and flip through OK or NW. I don’t want my money lining the pockets of mercenary photographers on the other side of the world, so I only look. Of course, if I come across an OK or NW in an op shop I whoop it up and splash out, as long as it’s only a few weeks old. A person has to have standards, after all.