There’s always one isn’t there
Slopping beer all over his shoes
He’s jostling for position
Hand secure upon the barrier
But his shoulders aren’t quite through
Because a fangirl, already half cut
Is hogging space for two
Arms are sleeves of coloured ink
Hair is blonde and striped in pink
Boobs are large and cupped in lace…
He might try conversation
“I love your tats; the skull, the eagle
...

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