Passing The Time Of Day


Passing The Time Of Day

“Over here, Char.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Trace. Wot’s that black thing?”

“Some soap called diesel, innit.”

“For you?”

“No Char, it’s for Jezza. He luvs anything to do with his work.”

“Wot, lorry driving?”

“Nah! He quit that. He’s working in a bleeding garage, gets covered in the goo. Can’t get it out of his clothes.”

“Men! I know what you mean Trace.”

“How’s your old man then, Char?”

“The bastard’s dead.”

“What? When? What he die of.”

“Died of bleeding syphilis didn’t he, Trace.”

“Char, you can’t die of syphilis.”

“You can, if you give it to me.”

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