It was after nine when the first signs of movement stirred Blissful E. Bear. His neck was craned uncomfortably, his head tilted upwards, mouth open as if he was catching flies. He opened his eyes and found himself to be covered in last nights filth, not all of it his own. He smelled like the love-child of a brewery and regurgitated nachos. He also noted, it seemed he had awoken in a foul-smelling receptacle of some description. He tried to maneuver himself to an upright position but his lack of coordination made his makeshift bed teeter from rim to rim threatening to collapse. He pressed down on his knees and lifted himself painfully to his feet. There he surveyed his situation. Aside from the obvious fact that he had fallen asleep in a wheelie bin, his head was pounding like the bed posts of some young lothario and his bladder was about to quit. It was the dead of winter but somehow the alcohol in his body was keeping him warm. What the fuck happened last night? He could see himself sneaking beers into a club and one of them smashing on the polished wooden floor. He pieced a series of hand shakes together and a conversation with a man who claimed he was a visiting alien, a member of the Illuminati and had a penchant for Chinese cigarettes that came in hundred packs. He awkwardly raised himself over the lid of the bin and jumped free of his enclosure just before it toppled under his own weight. Once he had relieved himself behind a tree he was then able to focus on something that had evaded him during his frantic search for a public urinal. In his jacket pocket was a four page folded letter with a wax seal stamped with the letters A.S. He opened the letter and was immediately confronted with something shocking.
JH
No comments:
Post a Comment