(020)
“Do you know how much it costs to finish one of those?” Frank asks, cracking open his fifth can of lager and not waiting for a response. “Near on half a grand.” He tips his head back for an ostentatious victory sip, dribbling it down himself in the process.
“Mmm.” Jon responds, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth while his rough fingers work to open another pack.
“Think how much you could do with that money,” Frank goes on, patting the wet patch on the front of his weathered coat with his free hand as he does. “Why would you want to waste it all on football stickers?” He looks back up at his friend.
A tiny satisfying squelch breaks the seal on the foil, allowing Jon to pour the spoils into his open palm.
Frank watches as he shuffles through the cards and studies the sticker book leaning open against the tree to his left, placing them in little piles beside it.
“Who’d you get?” Frank asks, craning his neck to see.
“No-one really, a few okay ones, few doubles – no shiny’s.” Jon lays the final sticker down and pulls another pack from the tattered plastic bag between them, then tips it towards Frank. “You can do some if you want?”
Frank considers it for a moment, then nestles the can within his crossed legs and reaches inside.
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