[ WP ] You work at the horse races . It 's your job to separate the legitimately lucky from the time travelers looking for a quick buck .

“ So that ’ s two whole pounds on a 5/1. Ladies and gentlemen, we got a high roller here, ” I said, winking at the giggling teenager and her friend in their fancy hats. They tottered off to the ice cream van, quick as a wink. They weren ’ t any hassle. 
 
 I was looking out for the Timmys. You could sometimes tell on sight who they were, especially on the Grand National of all days. That ’ s where they thought the big money was, so I had to be extra vigilant today. 
 
 I kept up with fashion trends now. I had to, just in case something caught my eye. Here was one now, I could almost taste it. Timmy through and through. What was it going to be? 
 
 He smiled sheepishly at me and passed me a betting slip. I scoffed. 
 “ A £1000 four-fold acca on Tipsy Highlight, Ronald ’ s Topper, Twist on the Bend and One Upsy? With those shoes? You must be having a laugh. ” 
 
 His face dropped. He knew I knew, I thought. He expects our little betting shops to be easy money now that the lotto had gone chronosafe. We couldn ’ t afford such measures, so we had to use our judgement. And my judgement was that he was a dirty Timmy. 
 
 “ Are you not accepting my bet? ” 
 
 “ Mate, ” I handed the slip back at him, “ not only am I not accepting your bet, but I am also informing this entire row of bookies, and the whole bloody timeline if I can, that you ’ re a Timmy. Worse, you ’ re a complete amateur. Get lost. ” 
 
 He slunk off in his futuristic high top Converse, but not before spoiling the ending of Game of Thrones. 
 
 Fuck, I hate time travellers.
