Posted Fri Mar 18, 2016 | 142 Words | Tagged story chav

He looked down at his phone. Some guy was texting him about going for drinks like he was his mate. He tried to tell him he got the wrong number, but each time made him feel even more confused.

Yeah, he was in the right house. The one with the old furniture. Bit scruffy but nice enough.

Ding. His trackies felt slightly off. Course he always wore them, why would they feel off.

Ding. His footie shirt felt softer than normal. Was he fucking high or something?

Ding. His head fogged up, but he felt something right. Course he was texting his mate. His vision blurred and he looked back at his phone. All he could see was just a text, “Pub tonite m8?”

Yeah course he was going to the pub. Big game tonite and he wasn’t going to miss it.