A slightly dishevelled and breathless Micky flies in and takes his place at the end of the queue, next to his older pal, John.
“Yeah, not bad Micky, how’s yourself?”
“Late night, John. Late night…You here for the buffet too?”
“Yeah, but I got caught up with looking at that Doctor Who thing. Them at Number 42 watched a re-run this morning.”
“Oh, Number 42, they’ve got the 50-inch Smart TV. Nice piece of kit there, John. Me, I had a heavy night on the millet. Never again mate.”
“Yeah, okay! Don’t we look a right picture here, all in a line. Like a bunch of usual suspects, eh? Things you see when you haven’t got a camera!”
“Ha! You’re right there. You flying South again this winter, John?”
“Yeah, me and the Missus are off to Brighton, for the bad weather. It’s really quiet then, when all the seabirds come inland. We do like the change of scenery.”
“Do you think this queue is moving at all?”
“Patience lad, you’ve just got here! Mind you, one or two here could demolish the buffet by themselves, if you know what I mean?”
“Hang on John, I’ve got an idea. LOOK OUT, LADS! KIDS WITH PELLET GUN APPROACHING! SAVE YOURSELVES!”
“They’ve all flapped it, John. Front of the queue. Sorted!”
This is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Al Forbes. Please click here for more details.
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