One wheel. There is always one wheel. The other three are fine, professional, committed to the job, and the fourth is on a journey of its own, dragging the whole trolley gently to the left like a dog that has seen another dog.
I have started testing them in the trolley park. I push them a metre. I listen. I look like a man choosing a horse. People stare. I do not care. I will not spend forty minutes correcting course in the cereal aisle.
Also the coin thing. I do not carry coins. Nobody carries coins. The trolley is held hostage by a currency that no longer exists.
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