The alleyway was cramped. Waaaaay more than it was last year. The streets were Packed with people of all ages but the large mustaches and sweaty, unusually big torsos made the crescent appear like a throng of overaged, smelly blockheads gaping around senselessly. The younger ones clenched firmly with their mother’s grip, were excitedly peeking through the shiny glasses of toy shops and miniature stores. Females were centered around the Juelerie, the ornamental store. Gold bracelets and twinkling earrings served as the core of fascination for some. The others were more perturbed than fascinated by the wining babies in their BabyGo carriers. Shouts of joy from the Ferris Wheels and the aroma of the spicy delicacies being prepared in Indian and Chinese Cuisines filled the air which was gently striking against everyone’s skin. Many were centered on the spectacularly colored shops ranging from clothing outlets to shoe stores, others rounded the street performers who were showcasing their acrobats, snake charming, contortions, and perplexing magical talents. The parks and benches were occupied by the contented and satisfied elderlies. Most of them chat with their significant halves or examine the changes in the quality of fairs in their times and today. With everything around, it was no exaggeration to say, if there existed a heaven, it was here.
The critically acclaimed Dreamland Margate Fun Fest was finally in the town and London seemed more of a Manhattan that day. 100’s of people battled their way through the coupon counters to enter the most awaited, once in a 5 year, fair event. Seriously, the fair was more than a fair. It was celebrated. Like a festival. If not for the excitement, people went there for the comic cons and theme parks. Celebrity chefs, world-class artists, and many more were kept for a surprise element which for some reason weren’t there this year. But that didn’t affect the frenzy of people to visit the biggest fest on the planet.
The shops were usually down in the week due to the world-class shopping arrangement in the D.M.F.F. but the fair wasn’t enough to shutter or hamper the business of the teen-concerned outlets. Unlike the previous years this year too witnessed a very small, rather smaller fraction of teen interest in the fair. Candy Outlets, cake pantries, pubs, restaurants, and cafeterias, right in front of the Fair, were still open, thanks to the young-adults community. Not so much bothered by the excitement around, almost all of them were busy with themselves. There’s nothing to expect more from them here. None of the cafeterias cared about Dreamland Margate Fun Fest which contrastingly was rejoiced by thrice of their population.
“By the way, All that concerns me is….there should be cheese on my ham”. It was a sharp voice, coming from a table at the rightmost end.
Four boys, two probably mid-scholars, other two probably 16-17, sat around the circular table, placed at the corner, by the hearth. One of them was a ginger head with a splash of mild freckles distributed over his face. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a Harry Styles signature on his back. The one sitting opposite had black hair and hazel eyes, wearing a purple shirt with deep red stripes. The other two were twins. Both have frontwards overthrown hairs and a completely identical face. The table they were on was completely different from other’s buffet-filled counters and looked more like a work desk.
“I hate ham,” said one of the twins.
“Me too,” said the other.
“Did YOU have to tell us, Stephen? We already saw that coming. Mama’s boys. ” Said the ginger head throwing them a disgusting look.
“Hey” wailed both of them.
“What……?… Don’t like ham. seriously? What do you like though, Cow Tales or Popsicles ?” Said the ginger motioning to the 4th boy to pass him the pen, who didn’t notice as he was completely into the sheet which he was scribbling for the past half an hour, non-stop.
“You, don’t talk to me…”
“So you will teach me to talk ?” Threatened the ginger head, leaning towards the boy on his right
“N…Not… eating ham doesn’t infer…”
“Oh kiddo…. it does. Now run to your Moama and…tell her……..tell her……that…..well….b get lost. I don’t do the hamster’s shit.” Said the boy loud and clearly.
“No, I won’t. Mum told me to sit while she gets the passes” said one of them in a rigid voice.
“Oh, you will.” Said the ginger giving them a devilish smile and reaching for his bag. Some faces in the cafeteria now were glaring at the nonsensical, dim-witted act going on at the table by the hearth.
“Wha…what are you doing ?”
“What do you think ?” Asked the ginger, smiling more wickedly. The 4th boy sat there frozen. Still glaring and scribbling in his notebook.
“You have 3 seconds. 3.”
“L-listen, I will tell……”
“1” and the ginger gave the bag a mighty jolt followed by an evil laughter. He was about to pull out his hands when the twins jumped out of the chair, purple-faced with fear. And darted straight to the cafeteria gate
“Moama…Moama. Salvare Nos….salvare nos”.
Both of them cried as they dashed for the exit. The ginger along with the cafeteria behind burst out, laughing wildly. All faces, pastel faced a moment ago were jeering. Except the hazel-eyed who still was scribbling the pages.
“Those Spanish Morons.” Murtled the boy, a smile flickering through the edges.
“You would not want their parents to come looking for you mate,” said the hazel-eyed, finally lifting his head. A beautifully carved, glimmering face shot straight into the scene. He had a cut in his left eyebrow. His hair was perfectly trimmed, exactly opposite to the ginger in front. “They are fierce Latina before Spanish.”
“We’ll be long gone by then.” Said the boy.
“Those Spanish Morons.” Murtled the boy, a smile flickering through the edges
“You say so…” sighed the hazel-eyed as he went back to his scribbling again.
“How’d it go with your dad ?” Asked the boy, the smile fading away.
“What would you expect ?” Moaned the boy. The elderly vibe dwindled from his glittering face.
“Any normal dad-son talk and I would say perfectly”
“Again, the same lame vindication. He doesn’t care, He wouldn’t care. Why should he? What’s the big deal if he misses his son’s academic facilitation program or his sports facilitation program or the Father-Son relay race or….?” Whimpered the boy. Scribbling harder now. Exhaustion and outrage distinguishable from the glabellar lines on his forehead.
“Mate, he must have some reasons.”
“I’m sure he does.” Mumbled the boy sarcastically.
“How bad can it be ?” Asked the ginger, looking concerned