First Page : The transit van pulled up to the side of the road. A man with ginger hair leaned out of the passenger window, and glared at me with mad, piercing blue eyes. I quickly looked away. The gang-master got out of the driver’s side. I could tell he was disappointed I wasn’t a strapping six-footer who would be of some practical use to him that summer. Regardless, he shook my hand and welcomed me aboard. ‘Oh, and don’t worry ’bout Deano.’ He gestured towards the passenger window. ‘He’s like that with everyone.’ As soon as I opened the door the smell hit me: twelve semi-conscious men still stinking of their beds and last night’s booze. I clambered in and tried to sleep. But Deano’s incessant chatter proved too distracting. Every so often, one of the men farted and he would shout, ‘I smell sperm, I smell sperm,’ then laugh himself silly.