Page 9 of Sorry, We're Closed

“Oi, what can I get you, lad?”

A short yet large man appears over the counter, a grease-stained apron taut around his waist and a dark blue hair net over his brunette wires. His bulging arms cross over his chest as a toothy smile spreads over his stubbly face.

“Hi, two loads of chips, a battered sausage, battered cod, and curry sauce. All large, please.”

The man looks me up and down, his eyes having to look higher than himself to reach mine. I place the notes on the counter, and he pulls them away before sliding across a mixture of coppers and silvers.

“Huh, you’re no regular around here, are you?”

I shake my head, a gentle laugh escaping my lips.

“You see, we always know what people will order so that’s all we ever have going, sorry if there’s a bit of a wait.”

I tell him it’s no bother before taking a seat on one of the two flimsy chairs squeezed into the corner with a rusting table. I could never imagine sitting here with someone gazing over at me, it seems if I plan on taking anyone around here out for the evening, I’ll need to learn about some different eateries rather than Johnny’s Chip Shop.

The man, who I now assume is called Johnny, peeks over the silver as he wraps the first lot of food in half a tree’s worth of paper. “So where are you from, buddy?”

“Here, there, and everywhere. We travel.”

“Ah, is that you and your lovely lady? Travelling around?”

Assumptions. They always make me laugh. First of all, because I say “we”, it is instantly assumed that I am travelling with a partner, therefore assuming I am dating someone. I’m not.

Secondly, a lovely lady? While I swing in any direction possible because their identity could never bother me, I’m a male, therefore I must date a woman, according to people like Johnny. I'm sure he means no harm.

“Ah no, my uncle actually, we’re a band and we’re performing here for a while.”

I didn’t realise how much time had passed as the assumed Johnny wraps the last of our food, the grease seeping through the first lot of wrapped food.

“Oh right, what’s the name? I’ll keep a lookout.” He bags all our food into a white carrier and passes it over the counter, the heat beginning to steam up the inside of the bag.

“Bright Lights. See you there!” I wink across to, who I am going to just say is Johnny, and force myself through the weighted door and out onto the street.

I didn’t realise how long I was in the humid shop as the cool air strokes my cheeks and weaves through my hair, individual hairs tickling the tips of my ears. I stretch my hair band off my wrist and pull half of my thick hair into a bun, I cannot deal with that tickle the whole walk home.

I lay across the sofa, my jeans undone with one leg over the back of the sofa and the other grazing the floor.

“Avory, you’ve killed us. We’re done for.”

Marcus changed into his loungewear while I was out, but even with the lack of elasticity in his jogger waistband that he has owned since I was born, he still struggles to handle dinner.

“I didn’t know how large a Tetherton large was!”

Marcus struggles to lift himself from the armchair that we found hidden away in his bedroom when unpacking. “I’m going to go pass out in my room, take it easy, bud. The gig is tomorrow night, remember!”

Marcus waddles behind the sofa, patting my shoulder twice as I wave him goodnight. The click of his door shutting echoes around the living room as I tip my head back and longingly look to my bed.

Throwing my legs over the sofa and onto the floor, I haul my now comfortably full body into my bedroom and click the door behind me. The longer I gaze at my bed, the more I want to throw everything onto the floor and deal with it in the morning, and that's exactly what I do.

Grabbing the bottom of my hoodie, I pull off everything on my top half and launch it across the room, the clothes smacking into the mirror hanging on a white, protruding hook. My hands grip my trouser button as I forget about the silver chain around my neck, the cold sensation on my now bare skin sending shivers down my spine and reminding me to take that off, too.

Stepping out of my trousers and shaking them off my ankles, my hands tangling themselves in my chain and trying to find the clasp, I finally free my neck and slide myself into my grey joggers.

I always switch between sleeping shirtless or not, depending on the weather and heating of wherever we’re staying, but it’s warm here – comfortably warm – and I practically throw myself into bed.

Five

Sawyer

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