Both Dick and Barry were employed to work part-time, three days each, but shortly after I’d taken them on they both started turning up every day, including Saturdays. I didn’t know what to do about if they really had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, I didn’t want to, you know, draw attention to it, in case it prompted some sort of spiritual crisis so I upped their money a bit and left it at that. Barry interpreted the pay rise as a signal to cut his hours back, so I haven’t given him one since. That was four years ago, and he’s never said anything about it. He comes into the shop humming a Clash riff. Actually, humming is the wrong word: he’s making that guitar noise that all little boys make, the 540 Drew Brees Signature Nfl All Time Passing To Record T-Shirt one where you stick your lips out, clench your teeth and go. Barry is thirty-three years old.
540 Drew Brees Signature Nfl All Time Passing To Record T-Shirt, Hoodie, Long Sleeved, T-Shirt
Barry intimidates Dick, to the extent that Dick rarely says a word when Barry is in the shop. I only get involved when Barry is being really offensive, so I just watch Dick reach for the hi-fi on the shelf above the counter and turn the 540 Drew Brees Signature Nfl All Time Passing To Record T-Shirt cassette off. ‘Thank fuck for that. You’re like a child, Dick. You need watching all the time. I don’t know why I should have to do it all, though. Rob, didn’t you notice what he was putting on? What are you playing at, man? He talks relentlessly, and more or less everything he says is gibberish. He talks a lot about music, but also a lot about books Terry Pratchett and anything else which features monsters, planets, and so on, and films, and women. Pop, girls, etc., as the Liquorice Comfits said. But his conversation is simple enumeration: