A thick mist hung over the houses and wrapped itself round the trees.
The cars were going nowhere as the roadworks slowed them to a standstill.
Reg and I didn't need to use the crossing lights to navigate the main road on our way out or back, and I'm not sure the same cars weren't stuck there on the return journey anyway.
A long line of headlights faded back through the mist.
The air smelled heavily of cigarette smoke and the sickly tang of Red Bull, a sure sign that the trudge to school had begun.
The garage shop does a roaring trade in fags, energy drinks and Haribo sweets.
Doesn't anyone go to school on Ready Brek any more?
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