Spitting Out Chicken Wings

We were sitting outside Woollies, me with my bum propped on the window sill, Buddy and Bruno watching the passing crowds while Sam shopped.

A really fat, plain boy walked passed talking loudly on his phone. Oh, you know the type, I am never quite sure if they do it for the attention, or if they are, actually, blissfully unaware of how annoying they are, actually, being?

“We posted things on it, us being stupid, me spitting out a chicken wing,” he said.

And I thought to myself, as he walked passed still squawking into his phone, I bet you have never spat a chicken wing out in your life, sweet heart.

Then I watched him walk away with the back of his shorts stuck firmly up the crack in his arse.