The smoke from my cigarette curls up through the rain drops and I hunch deeper into my coat. Inside the music from the Weasels i pod thumps and thunders through the house. Lilly the Collie barks as someone turns into the Close. Mrs BW is catching up on the XYZ Factor, or what ever its called. Its Friday night and I am waiting to give the Weasel and her various friends a lift up to the Rugby Club for their sixth form prom raising event. The Munch who is 16 on Sunday is out, having sneaked a bottle of cider past the checkpoint. Its Friday night. I should be out. I must be getting old.
Have a good weekend.