Last chopper out of Leeds

Christ the train back to Sheffield is sombre. Proper funeral vibes. People at various stages of grief.

“Wilder out!”

“Kieffer Moore is a big rude boy and nothing else.”

“We were shit.”

The strongest grief vibe on the misery wagon, however, is bargaining. We’re the best team they’re going to face. We’re on the same points as them so they’re doing all right, right? Right?! At least they’d had a good start till us bigger boys came and bullied them into collectively shitting their boring useless bed.

“Sheffield or Leeds?” The poor fella next to me, reaching out for consolation, finds only me, a gloating git.

⬢

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