"I have... time," Alex whispered. "I have so much time. I don't know what to do with it."
"You could learn pottery," his dad suggested. "Or knitting."
"I am a footballer, dad. I cannot knit."
"Not with that attitude," his dad grinned.
A horn honked outside. A loud, aggressive, musical horn.
It played the tune of The Godfather.
Alex sighed. He knew who it was.
He walked to the window.
Parked in the driveway was a... hearse.
A long, black, gothic hearse.
Milo was leaning against it. He was wearing a suit made of black leather. He looked like a vampire who managed a boy band.
Mark was sitting on the roof of the hearse. He was wearing a black cape.
"GET IN, PROFESSOR!" Mark screamed. "WE ARE GOING TO A FUNERAL!"
Alex opened the window. "Who died?"
"NO ONE!" Milo yelled up. "BUT ATLETICO MADRID WILL DIE TOMORROW! IT IS PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE! WE ARE THE UNDERTAKERS!"
"Milo," Alex said. "I am not riding in a hearse."
