The man dragging the full industrialised dehumidifier
across Cheadle Hulme Costa has zero sweat
on his neck, forehead, armpits, biceps and –
presumably –
above his buttocks. Even his mouth is dry
until a young barista carries over
a cup of something hot (I can tell by the
steam)
and a pastry. He waves the pastry and chins
the cup of hot liquid. I wouldn’t say
his scream is unbecoming, but the way he
threw the dehumidifier was deafening
(and impressive).

Carl Burkitt 2026