Living on the edge of a sprawling council housing village can be such an adventure at times.
To get a bottle of milk from the local shop you will have to dodge groups of vacant eyed neddetes in war paint erasing the last remnants of individuality, packs of feral children, already banned from the shop for shoplifting and craving their 10 a day nicotine fix, ballistic buggies pushed by bitter girls turning too quickly into their own mothers, flying fag butts thrown with certain knowledge that no one will dare to press for financial penalty, swaggering junkies freshly filled with their favourite drugs loudly honking at one another in geese-speech, burn out alkies temporarily soothing last night hangovers with a chippie and a bottle of face wash and bare-feet tussle-haired obese beings of no immediately recognisable sex gathering armfuls of fat-full sugary goodies.
Just to find out on return home that the milk you so bravely acquired has an expiration date of today...
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