Fat boys in balaclavas
The fat boys in balaclavas were excited because Tommo had said they could all have sausage rolls from Greggs on their way home as long as they remembered to not take their balaclavas off.
Neil from Great Yarmouth asked if he could have a Pumpkin Spiced Doughnut instead of a sausage roll. He said he tried one at his niece’s birthday party and it was lush.
Tommo said ok, maybe, but fucking hell, Neil! They were all supposed to just have sausage rolls; that was what they’d agreed in the chat, and he’d only really budgeted for that. Besides, he wasn’t even sure they were doing Pumpkin Spiced Doughnuts yet; they were more of a Halloween sort of thing, and it was only just September.
Neil looked really embarrassed and quite sad; the tops of his round cheeks, visible through the eyeholes of his balaclava, went bright pink and his eyes went a bit watery.
Don’t fucking cry, mate! Shouted Deano from the back of the Transit crew cab. I’m not! Neil snapped back. It’s the balaclava; it’s itchy. I’m allergic.
You are; you’re fucking crying, mate. Deano looked delighted as he adjusted his own eyeholes.
Neil swallowed back a sob, I’m not, he whispered shakily and turned to look out of the window again.
Tommo sighed. That’s enough, Deano. Let’s just keep it down now, please; we’ll be there soon.
The transit chugged along, full of fat boys in balaclavas. A family of Canada Geese honked as they took off from some wetlands; they formed a V silhouetted against the slate sky. Neil stared longingly at the majestic family of geese and decided he wouldn’t have anything from Greggs on the way back.
