I have a stupid-looking face. It's unfortunate, but there it is. Short of drastic surgery there's nothing I can do about it. Just have to live with it you know?

    Round eyes in a round, freckly face. Look like I was born yesterday. Kind of gormless is the word that springs to mind. Even when my mouth is closed people think it's open for business in the fly-catching arena.

    It's my stupid-looking face that got me into this mess. If I wasn't so stupid-looking none of it would have happened. I'm serious.

    If I wasn't so stupid-looking I wouldn't have got held up at the check-out. And if I hadn't got held up at the check-out, well I'd have been off down the street and round the corner. I'd have missed it completely. Would have heard about it on the news later maybe, if I'd even watched the news. More likely I'd just have heard about it from someone and gone; "Oh."

    But that didn't happen, except in a parallel universe to some other Sam Daniels with a stupid-looking face.

    What actually happened was that the check-out guy gave me a suspicious, narrow-eyed frown. His extraordinarily hairy eyebrows met in the middle like a couple of caterpillars smooching.

    I looked at him back with my stupid-looking face and my normal but stupid-looking eyebrows.

    "ID please sir," he said.

    "ID?" This was because of my stupid-looking face of course.

    And this was where I got held up because could I find it? And I really wanted that beer, and really didn't want to queue again. I'd already been waiting ages for this old lady who emptied out the entire contents of her purse on the counter because she just had to pay with the right change and was short.

    It was now my turn to empty everything onto the counter. This process was further complicated because of the sheer amount of pockets I had, all of them bottomless pits full of random junk; bits of paper that had been through the wash; coins; keys; cards; things unidentifiable I could have sworn I'd never seen before in my life. You know the sort of thing. I even found a raisin. I hate raisins. I stared at it doubtfully. It was covered in fluff, and sticky.

    They don't accept raisins and bits of clotted, washed paper as valid ID.

    I was just turning away, defeated and resigned to a beer-less night when...

What could happen next to the stupid-looking boy?

The End

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