Harold merely scowled and left. It wasn't until he was once again in the driver's seat of his van that a witty retort came to him. “I will. As soon as it's under new management.”
“What?” Dill raised an eyebrow. It had fallen off and he was trying to stick it back with whatever passed for spit in a zombie.
“That...person it there was very rude. Tried to charge me seven hundred quid for a cup of tea.”
“Wow.” Dill was silent for a moment, watching the police car in front pull out before haring off at twice the speed limit. “You must really like tea.”
“I didn't pay that much. Honestly, I think it was overpriced at the two I gave him.”
“Why? It's a big cup, you've got milk and a plastic lid. He has his overheads and frankly, if he'd the only place open where you can get a cup of tea he can charge whatever the market will sustain. If you were desperate for a tea you'd have probably paid a five. Complained bitterly about it afterwards to anyone but the café, of course, but then that's the British way.” He viewed the cup, wedged as it was between Harold's thighs. “You know heat can damage your semen count, right?”
“No cup holders.” Harold pulled off and headed toward his mother's. He frowned and glanced at his passenger. “Purely from a scientific viewpoint, are you still fertile? And if you are, are your sperm still alive or are they undead as well?”
“That's a bit of a personal question.” Dill rubbed his groin. “I honestly don't know.”