An everyday story of concrete folk: Ten

Big washed and hoovered his big car, took his goff sticks and his waders out of the boot and drove off.
“Where going?” Wee Willie wondered.
Brenda uttered a sarcastic huff of breath.
“He’s off to get his Chelsea Tractor.”
Numpty grinned. “I likes tractors.”
Mother Bigger must have had a premonition, because she sat on the patio inhaling gin as if it was going out of fashion.
The sound of a set of vulgar air horns announced Big’s arrival. Big and the biggest purple muscle truck you have ever seen.
Mother sighed and collapsed gently into the herbaceous border.

©️jj 2021

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