My legs are stretched out, and an empty beer can has rolled next to my knee. For all I know I'm getting covered in stale Carling, but somehow I think it befits the style I'm travelling in. Consequently I've been too nonchalant to kick it away, although the past 5 minutes have been spent deciding whether to or not.
It's dull, its Sunday evening, and the sense that it's all too close to Monday morning is the over-riding emotion in the air. I feel I can smell it, and its oddly similar to the sickly smell of stale Carling soaking into my jeans.... knew I should have kicked it away earlier, probably no point now.
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