6/7/2023 0 Comments Tea by Matthew J. Metzger“Monday for the renovation?” John asked as he curled his coat collar up. Rhodri snarled a defence of his beloved, twenty-year-old death trap of a van, but John firmly stuck by his assertion as the rust bucket was hauled over to the side of the road, and the handbrake screeched like a banshee in an opera house. “Fark the ring road,” Rhodri grumbled in his thick, garbled accent. “Turn around and use the ring road, if you don’t want to be here all night.” John snorted, grinning, and squinted out of the slush-smeared windscreen. It had started to snow, which-despite Sheffield getting snow on a regular basis in the winter-ensured everyone promptly forgot how cars worked.Ī fact that Rhodri backed up by leaning out of the van window and bellowing, “Who taught yer to farking drive, yer daft cunt!” at a middle-aged man in a BMW. John grunted, busy watching a Facebook slanging match unfolding on his phone. “Fark this,” Rhodri said, “fer the ace o’ farking spades.”
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