Who will buy?

Into the early hours of Saturday morning in Lanchester, and myself and mate Marcus stumbled upon a shop of yesteryear. It looked like the staff had been taking turns throwing the wig on the head of this manikin. Maybe they had knocked it over in the game, hence the reason for one of the broken fingers. Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the time. But the two of us could not stop giggling like girls at this. Class.