Green

"Yes, love?"
The woman in the greengrocer's was always friendly. Everyone was love or darling or something similarly 70s-sounding.
"A pound of carrots, please," the old woman said.
There was no place for the metric system in here.
The carrots were weighed.
"It's a bit over. Is that ok?"
"No, it's not."
One carrot was removed from the scales.
"It's a bit under now."
"That's not ok either."
"It's either going to be over or under. It's never spot on, darling."
The old woman reached into her shopping basket on wheels and pulled out a rifle. She pointed it at the carrot-weigher.
"Give me a pound of fucking carrots."