Read Online The Hipster From Outer Space (The Hipster Trilogy Book 1) by Luke Kondor - Free Book Online Page B

tell? She guessed that the language was Punjabi, but wouldn’t bet money on being right.  
    “The City Bank?” he said as he turned to look at her. “On Old Street?”
    The driver’s chin was a forest of uneven thick black hairs with the odd wiry grey hair reaching out a little further than the others. And his front teeth were caked in black. She felt sick.
    “No … that one’s always too busy,” she said, shaking her head. “Can you take me to the small one on Brewer Street. You know where I mean?”
    He nodded and said “Sure, sure,” and went back to talking in his own language.  
    Outside the window and Hannah noticed how many shops had changed since she’d last been in town. A hairdresser’s that she’d been to as a kid was now an estate agency. The old video shop was now a bakery. It was crazy to think how quickly things could change. Almost overnight.
    The driver sped around a roundabout which sent Hannah’s already distressed stomach into a bilious frenzy. She felt like telling him to slow down, but didn’t want to be rude and interrupt his phone call, so instead she made a “yeuuurgh” sound.
    It didn’t matter. The driver pulled up on Brewer Street and let her out. She handed the driver a twenty-pound note and he gave her some change.
    “Bye,” she said and he said “Sure, sure,” and nodded as he pulled away, already back to the urgent matter of talking to his friend.
    Hannah looked at the little bank. Which wasn’t actually little at all. It was a giant old building that the bank had occupied for years. It just happened to be smaller than the other one in town.
    She checked her pockets. She had her bank card, some letters to prove her address, and her passport. Check. She then walked through the big glass doors and into the bank.
    “Fuck,” she said as she joined the back of the queue of twenty or more people.  
    She wished she’d gone to the bigger one now because the air conditioning in this one felt non-existent. All they seemed to have was a motorised fan in the corner of the room. One that looked left to right and right to left. Blowing cool air on you for a brief second before turning its back on you.  
    The man in front of her was a trifle of a man in a three-piece suit. She saw the sweat dripping out of the rolls of fat on his neck and felt the heat radiating off his body.
    “CASHIER ONE PLEASE.”
    The automated voice was that of a calm female. It didn’t match the tone of the place. All around her she saw hot fidgety customers and, hidden behind a glass window, were a small handful of overwhelmed and overworked bank tellers.
    “CASHIER THREE PLEASE.”
    Hannah held her t-shirt collar out, trying to let some cool air find its way inside. She noticed a drop of blood fall and land on her collar, staining the white fabric.
    “Oh crap,” she said, as he grabbed her nose.  
    She turned around to see the person behind her — an Asian man, also sweaty — drinking a bottle of water.
    “Pardon me,” she said through her hand. “Have you got a tissue I might be able to use?”  
    The Asian man looked concerned. His brow furrowed. He pointed to her nose.  
    Hannah held her hand out and saw that it wasn’t so much the amount of blood on her hand that was worrying him, but the fact that plumes of steamed billowed upwards from it. The steam was pouring upwards and into her eyes. She could barely see.
    “CASHIER FOUR PLEASE.”
    “Are you okay, miss?” The fat man in front of her had turned around, and at the sight of Hannah, turned a pale shade of blue.
    Suddenly everyone appeared to be looking at her. The whole queue had dispersed and were looking onwards, concerned.
    “Help,” she said. “Help me. Will somebody please help me?”
    The front of her white shirt was now covered in the dark blood. And now her skin was reddening, steaming, along with the blood.
    She held her hands in front of her face and saw the steam pouring out of her fingertips. Inside she felt like