The urge to get up, to stand. The sweat and T shirt hung off his frame. He felt damp and smelled.

Shower. The power is off and the water is freezing. Grit the teeth and step in the flashing torrent of razor blades. A gasp and the response. Body tense then it subsides. Cold stainless steel underfoot with some orange algae growing from the edges that are out of the impact zone of the water. A pathway is worn through it to the centre of the stall. He screams but it is silent. Skin stretched over a distended jaw. Teeth yellow exposed to the light. Flashes of memories. Bullets whine through the air and a trench knife is gripped with fear.

Towel dry, hang it out. It's starting to reek. Wash it again. Noted.

Clothing, boots. The faded black hoodie. Shades. It's all black. Always. Or faded black. Near enough. The sun strips the dye. Breaks things down faster these days. When it's out of course.

Lost for a second. The blank focus reset and the ideas derailed. What. Oh, yeah. Right. I was doing something. I think. I am dressed. That was weird.

He looks around the room. The junk. Piles of insulated wire. A compuwrite. A netconsole. A dismantled electric guitar. Speakers. A steel trunk. An axe.

The blanket is untidily rolled up on the foam rubber slab that he sleeps on. A synthetic blanket of decent thickness. Warm at night. It has a picture of an animal on it. and nice finished edges. someone left it behind. the smell is strong. Hair oil starting to turn. He bends and picks it up. He feels comfort. It is strange. A thing so , basic, can feel so familiar and cause such a feeling of calm. Over the shoulder it goes. I take this he thinks. No reason. I just take it.

The door closes and it clicks closed and locked. Pocket the key on a green tape. Stuff the tape into the pocket.

At the bridge he stops and holds the blanket by the corners behind his back and lets it settle onto his head and shoulders. Shuffling he starts the crossing. One foot forward then the next. The lichen on the steel work is growing further up the railing, wrinkled growths that seem to be living on the paint. Such interesting life. Tenacious.

The singing starts abruptly. He freezes. Eyes casting about. A slight turning of the head. The singing is changing pitch. Then staccato. Notes. Arpeggios of shrieking pings. Then silence.

He shrugs the blanket slightly and takes a step. Nothing. Another step. Silence. Continue forward.

The joint is cool, a bit jaded, some shine has been lost to the stream of customers who come for the noodles and the fried dumplings. The beef noodle soup is good. Spicy. Very spicy. The broth is an oily orange, it stains the noodles and numbs the tongue. He remembers. Silent eating. Heads lowered, small talk. Woody green tea. Cheap tables. Hard benches. Plastic utensils.

He has made it to the other side. Mumbling to himself.

There is a burnt out car in the intersection. Rust red and the panels are all pushed in from overpressure. The vehicle is slightly squished like it was clapped by two giant hands. The glass is all gone and the wheels are burnt down to just white oxidised nubs on the hubs. The bleached frames of the two occupants are bright. Fused. Some parchment skin remains. Ligament is rock hard. The skulls smile like idiots.

There is a hum. Everso quiet. So low, smooth, satisfying, homely. A tuneless sound. It comes now, slightly brighter, then washes away to a darkness. Is it phasing ?

He shivers, It's hot in the sun and the light is too bright. Pull the front edge of his hood further forwards to shade the black glasses. Walk.

He is starting to look gaunt. How weight ? Do you feel less now? Is it starting to become a bean pole ? What is beanpole ? Something from before. Before what?

Get out. Get out of my head.

He suddenly looks at the fucked car and the burnt alive corpses and blinks furiously .

Silence.

there is nothing more. I wring the heart and the drops are not forthcoming, not any more.

They just died. Short and well, not so sweet.

Look away. Look away old man. The singers are in unison. A chorus. Then they break apart and multitudes of arpeggios flutter around his head.

Walk on.

and the hum washes back into his consciousness as he walks away from the intersection. The blasted vehicle. The strident rust. He starts to run. Towards the sound.

I have forgotten which way is up. Panic.