Weekend life in Leicester ... part two

Hanging Trainers

Spit Harrison grimaced in his usual obnoxious way, watching as Hendy turned the corner into the cul-de-sac that butted up against the disused arches of the old Great Central Railway bridge that still dominated Braunie-Gate*.  Spit gobbed onto the floor, for no particular reason other than that he always did ... it was his trade mark. Hendy handed over three pairs of trainers. Trainers that he'd stolen from the kit bags of the year nine dross, who still showed interest in the education system, at St Matthews Community College.

No words were spoken as Spit strung the trainers together. Even he was impressed with the coolness of the Nike trainers that Hendy had acquired … but he said nothing.

He glanced up, moved several steps to his left, and, without too much thought, slung the convoy of trainers in a looping trajectory upwards. They caught the overhead cable, some twelve feet in the air, and  both Spit and Hendy watched as the gang's fresh warning icon swung lazily.

Spit gobbed on the floor again, knowing that the Braunie Boys had re-established the territory that the Westcote Warriors had briefly taken just last week.   

* Braunie-gate  is local vernacular for Braunstone Gate