Escalator.

The sun had set and Alan Brooks though a summer’s night was just about the right reason to guzzle down a two litre bottle of his favourite tipple; white lightning cider.
He just loved the stuff.
Hmmn. Yeah, little Tanya was in bed; him and Angie could tie one on and then get jiggy with it later!
He glanced at his Casio wristwatch. Ten past nine. The spar shop would still be open. He snatched up his wallet and keys. “Angie, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where you goin’?”

“Spar.”

“What for?”

“Cider.” And then as an after thought; “You want anything?”

“Erm, no…yeah…erm…”

“Come on Angie, the shop shuts in an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll just have a pack of Pringles. That’ll do.”

“Alright.”

“Oh and a twix if they’ve got one.”

“’kay”

“An’ a snickers. And get some thing for Tanya’s packed lunch on Monday. Something good…the Dairy Lunchables or somethin’!”

A big sigh from Alan, “Anything else?” he asked sarcastically.

“Er, no, unless they’ve those Hob Nobs on special offer. I like those. They’re okay on my diet!” Angie declared. She patted her more than ample middle as if the diet was actually working.

“Fuck sake!” Alan declared to himself. Diet – diet – diet. That’s all he ever heard. And her with an arse so big - it had its own postcode!

He slipped the knock off ipod from his jacket pocket and fitted the ear buds. A second or two later and the ‘Ibiza Megatron’ remix of ‘Macarena’ was coursing through his cerebrum.
He started out for the local shopping arcade.
Alan smiled to himself as he walked. He didn’t understand a single word of this song but it sure was catchy. Especially the remix version, where every word was repeated three or four times for good measure!

Terry Rawlings was being nursed by his demure wife Becky. If she hadn’t chosen ‘Nail Technician’ as a career, Terry was sure she would have made a great nurse. She had a very good bedside manner. Mind you; for what Becky Rawlings gave in bedside service you’d need to be on BUPA Platinum cover! And then some!

“How’s your head now, babes?” she asked.

“It’s okay. That shithead Brooks just caught me off guard, it won’t happen again.”

“Why don’t you just call the cops?” Becky asked innocently. The Saint Tropez tan crinckling slightly around her wide blue eyes.

“What? Call the cops on that little git? No chance, I’d never be able to live it down. No, I’ll sort him out myself.”

“Okay babes, but remember we’re at Cheryl’s wedding next Saturday; so no bruises on your face if you can help it.” she declared sweetly.

“The bruises won’t be on my face I can tell you that for nothing.”

“Okay babes, you know best.” And as an after thought; “Why were you fighting in the first place?”

“Becky, pay attention will ya. Brooks knocked our Tommy off his bike and tried to choke him – for nowt. A full grown man pushing a seven year old around, for Christ sakes!”

“Oh, yeah, fair enough. Well Tommy seems okay now. He’s in his bedroom playing Final Destruction or something on the Xbox.”

Terry got up from the bed and looked out of the window. “I don’t bloody believe it! There’s Brooks now. Large as friggin’ life.”

Alan Brooks glanced up at the house and spotted Terry at the bedroom window. A single raised finger was all the neighbourly greeting that Alan offered.

“Motherfu…!” Then Terry was pulling on his trainers as fast as he could manage. “Now I’ll get him.”

“Get who babes?” asked Becky.

“Brooks, that’s who! He’s getting it big time now!”

“But babes, it’s my night for my massage. I bought a new bottle oil from Avon and everything. Karnuba and ylang ylang – good for relieving stress and invigoration of the soul it says.”

But Terry was already out of the door and down the stairs two at a time.

“What about my ylang ylang?” asked Becky despondently.

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