you’re walking down the bullet train, trying to find that stupid briefcase for your stupid job. as you’re walking along one of the carriages, a thomas the tank engine sticker book falls at your feet. you raise an eyebrow and pick it up, thinking it belongs to a little kid.

“oi, love. mind giving my brother his stickers?” a man with curly brown hair and a moustache asks. you raise an eyebrow as you realise his brother is, in fact, a grown man.

“tangerine, use your bloody manners.” his brother says, “sorry. i’m lemon, this is tangerine. and those,” he takes his stickers, “are my thomas stickers.”