Posted Fri Apr 22, 2016 | 268 Words | Tagged story chav workie accent

You were having a period where yet again you seemed to be exhausted over doing anything and having half awake periods daydreaming of various things. One time you daydreamed seeing a product on your phone, a bunch of spliffs advertised to bring out the inner brickie in you.

What you didn’t expect was for them to turn up through your letterbox a day later. You read it over and it was exactly how you remember them to be during your daydream. You don’t feel in the sleepy state neither, this time.

Curiously, you open the packaging and take one out and give it a sniff. It didn’t seem too bad, in fact it kinda smelt kinda good. You feel the urge to try it, and so you find a lighter and light the end.

You start to feel relaxed and even more relaxed. You smirk a little as you see the clothes on you start to blur a little in your vision, slowly part of it becoming your green hi-viz jacket and the rest just the jacket you wear underneath.

“Fuck me,” you try to speak after having a feeling of a massive headache clearing. Your voice is different, the tongue replaced with one distinctly scouse which is tuned more towards slang and swearing.

You feel finally happy, this is what you wanted right? Remembering you have work in the morning, remembering the hours of laying bricks you do, remembering working apprenticeships. All that fancy poncy shit you never did, that’s just not who you are.

You look back at the box, yeah fucking mint spliffs these like.