'Did you get it?' the boy asked excitedly.
'Here's your shit,' the man said, handing over a black bag with a glass bottle inside. 'I'm keeping the change.'
'But that's £5!'
'Pleasure doing business with you.' The man replied mockingly.
The boy smiled. The man thought he had won, but he was mistaken. The real winner stood holding a litre bottle of Glen's vodka. Sure, it wasn't pretty, but it would do the job. He turned and headed back across the road, half-checking that no one had seen him. It was broad daylight after all. But it was a Wednesday and all the adults would be working.
So across the road he went and down the grass alleyway opposite the shop, completely ignoring the sign which read 'Private property. Do not enter.'
He strolled down the alleyway with a smirk on his face as he pictured his hero's welcome. Would be be hoisted on their shoulders? Would they sing his name? Would they...
'FUCK!'
A violent ball of fire screamed past his face, only inches away from his nose and nearly robbing him of his eyebrows.
'You fucking bellend!' He yelled, turning the corner to a herd of teenage boys sitting on the grass cackling like hyenas, all except one who stood with a deodorant can, a lighter and a smug look on his face. The boy's anger was brief, though, as he remembered that the power was literally in his hands.
'I guess I'll just drink this all by myself then,' he smirked, producing the bottle of shitty vodka from its bag like were made of solid gold.
'Brilliant. More Glen's,' one boy piped up.
'Yeah, why do we always have to buy the shittest one?'
'Because we don't have any money, dipshit.' He snarled back, growing frustrated with their ungrateful reception. 'Besides, it certainly does a job. Just ask Danny.'
All five of them cracked a smile now, turning to look at one boy with dark hair, pale skin and a freckled nose who sat on the grass with his legs outstretched, leaning back on his arms.
'I think you're all forgetting what happened before that,'
'You mean eating the face off a girl who was big enough to eat you?'
'Fuck off Finn. When was the last time you got with a bird?' Danny threw back at the lanky kid who still stood holding his homemade flame thrower.
'It's like big tits- doesn't count if she's fat.' He retorted.
'Like fuck it doesn't! If there's grass on the pitch, play ball.'
'I bet that pitch looked like it came straight out of Sunday league' Sav said, seeing an opportunity for a free shot.
'Sav's holding out to marry Wembley turf!' Ginge, the bringer of Vodka, chimed in. They all laughed at this one and Finn and Ginge sat down to break bread (Doritos) and drink wine (cheap vodka). The last supper of summer.
'Well fuck me sideways,' Sav sighed, lighting a spliff between his lips and falling back onto the grass.
'Does this summer have to end?'
'One more week, fellas.' Ginge announced. 'Then it's back to algebra and The Great fucking Gatsby.'
'S'alright for some,' Finn complained.
'How so?'
'Well, you're actually smart.' He said matter-of-factly. 'You know why a green light symbolises Gatsby's undying love or some bullshit like that.'
'That doesn't mean shit.' Argued Ginge, slurring a little as the accusation irked him back to life. 'Fuck school. Fuck essays and textbooks. I say we have one last blow out; end the summer right. Who's with me?'
This breathed new life into the boys (barring Sav, who continued to lay staring at the clouds and protruding smoke like a human chimney).
'All in?' Ginge urged.
'Let's party mother fuckers!' Finn shouted, sparking an encore of football chants sung in a tuneless unison.
Drink, drink
Wherever you may be
We are the drunk and disorderly
And we'll drink it all
Wherever it may be
'Cause we are the drunk and disorderly!
They sung in tandem, attempting to match the tune of 'Lord of the Dance'. This was followed by a heartwarming rendition of Billy Cyrus' 'Achy Breaky Heart' with slightly altered lyrics.
Don't take me home
Please don't take me home
I just don't wanna go to schoooool
I wanna stay here
And drink all your beer
Please don't take me hooommeee
BANG! Silence fell across the group of teens. BANG! The unmistakable sound of a farmer's air rifle.
'Well, shit,' Sav said with a smile etching its way across his face. 'We better get moving boys.' And the young men fled jubilantly into the field of shoulder-high corn that grew beside them. The laughter stole more breath from their lungs than the running as they savoured this little charade one last time.
