This all started when Pank nicked the panel Morris.
“Got it Manchester,” he’d said. “Bloody fuck all looking for it in Bristol.”
He’d fitted it out with magnetic panels he’d gotten from Amazon, a lovely irony that made us both smile.
For a few months it was our main occupation, both of us in smart gray coveralls and caps, driving the neigbourhoods on the spy for left packages.
Pank hit the idea of following the real Amazon bloke, hot on his heels to un-deliver his latest batch.
That’s what caught us up in the end.
People sure buy some weird shite.