We didn’t leave the house that night though we could hear others gathered outside talking away. A lot of them were still out when we got up next morning. The street was littered with cans.
The Whelan’s were sayin’ it was the end of days, preachin’ about the final Judgement. That didn’t go down well with The Richmond’s. The young couple clearly didn’t fancy their chances in whatever the trial would be and were determined that if it was the End of Days, they’d bloody well enjoy it.
Someone had found a guitar. Oasis tunes were screeched out from Number 37. A few of our neighbours, those that should have known better, joined the growing entourage on the Richmond front lawn. The chordless wonder never let up, satisfying the beery shouted requests of the group. Read more