Midnight Smoker

The day wouldn't end. It just wouldn't end. It just went on and on and on. I tried to think of something bad that might happen later in the day, that evening, in a bid to speed up the day because, hey, time goes faster when there's something bad coming up. I thought I'd get home and, I dunno, press my hand on the hob. I wouldn't like. Burning my hand. That'd be shit, it'd kill. Yeah, I told myself that's what I'd do. I'd burn my hand.

An hour later I looked at my watch and saw seventeen minutes had passed. I wasn't going to burn my hand and part of me knew it. My brain part and so the day went on and on and on. It was the duracell bunny of days. Worst thing was it started to cloud over. Generally I like it when it rains at work because we get to wear our waterproofs but rain would ruin what I'd done and what I'd done was fucking exceptional.

Cycling through the gates that morning I'd noticed Graham's little white van was incredibly dirty. He'd been scrambling in it by the looks of it and the mud it was caked in had dried and so I decided to leave a message on the van. I didn't get fully off my bike but went up next to the van and removed a glove and wrote, "Cleam Me," on the side. I then tried to sort out the erroneous M but it looked shit so I wiped that whole message off. It wasn't a total bust as when I was fucking up writing the first message I'd thought of the real message I'd wanted to write. I knew 'clean me' wasn't what I'd actually wanted to write, I'd just wrote that because I hadn't instantly been able to think of what I actually wanted to write. What I'd wanted to write I'd seen it on vans a few times and each time I'd seen it I'd laughed and so under the message I'd wiped off I wrote, I WISH MY WIFE WAS THIS DIRTY!!! I then wiped my finger on the floor and rode up the hill to the hut and for the rest of the day I tried to keep a straight face. It was pretty easy because the slow passing of time was pissing me off. It was easy when I wasn't looking at Graham.

Graham is a prankster extraordinaire. One time he smashed Vince's phone, oh God, that was funny. He'd found a phone the same make as Vince's and while Vince was up in the excavator he'd waved it at him. He'd then dropped it on the floor and stamped on it. Vince went fucking nuts, jumped out of the machine, limbs all flailing Frenchly, left it still running and jumped down and I thought they were going to have a fist fight. I was crying with laughter. Vince called Graham a midget and Graham hates that because he's short and then Graham tells Vince it wasn't his phone and Vince shakes his head because he didn't find it funny and goes back to work. Two minutes later Graham's got Vince's real phone and stamps on it. Vince goes mental and jumps down and Graham's telling him to never call him short again and I'm laughing just thinking about it.

EVENTUALLY it was home time. I'm normally first out because I've got a bike and everybody else walks to the car-park but I hung back. It was difficult to make this seem casual and innocent, me hanging back but I cycled alongside Graham while standing on the pedals. I put my brakes on now and again causing my suspension forks to suspend. It was a bit like a stunt and a very casual way to ride a bicycle. I told Graham that the guy upstairs from me had flipped his car over one time because it was so powerful. Graham said he'd done that once. I whistled and said, "fuck!" I then sat on the seat of the bike and tried to accelerate as fast as possible to see if I could flip my bike, I couldn't. Got the wheel off the ground a couple of inches though. I then stood up on the pedals and applied the front brake, causing the forks to suspend while Graham caught up.

"What the fuck?" Asked Graham when he saw his van.

"What I asked?" I was looking over at the incinerator. A fucking huge grey square building. I sensed Graham begin to run off to my right and so I followed.

"Who did this?" Asked Graham pointing at the letters written on his van. 

"Dunno, mate," I said wiping my nose on my glove and looking back from where we'd come from. Vince was on his way. He had four keyboards. He'd doing something with them. He must have, no exaggeration, a thousand keyboards.

"Check it out!" I said to Vince pointing at Graham's van.

"I wish my wife was this dirty," Said Vince reading it and then laughing. Graham didn't see the funnyside. 

"It means dirty in a sex way. Wish my wife was the dirty. Cock sucking and that." I was looking at the words and although I was trying not to I was smirking. Graham was staring up at me through narrow eyes. "Because your van's di-"

"Ooooh!" Said Graham getting it. "Oh my God that's funny," he said. He laughed a little bit, then there was a pause, then he laughed a bit more and then there was another pause and then he was laughing. It was bit like a Spitfire starting. I was laughing too and Vince was laughing. Vince was also struggling with the keyboards' cables. Everyday he takes keyboards home and yet he still hasn't got a system for carrying them. I'd wrap each cable around each keyboard.

"Did you do that?" Asked Graham. Because he's from Liverpool he actually said, did-youdo-da.

"I don't know Davey," I said doing my gormless American voice and rolling my eyes.

"Did ya?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said. We all looked at the side of Graham's van.

Graham chuckled again and shook his head. "Dat's grrreat dat is," he said. "Me wife'll flip." 

"Well, see ya guys!" I said and then I turned my lights on and rode home laughing.