Trout opened his eyes and groaned, 'Fuck me, what just happened?'
There was no one there to answer him. His mouth was warm and tasted of iron. He rolled around the thick goo with his
tongue and spat it out. The red viscous globule escaped his mouth and dripped backwards over his forehead and into his
hair. He looked around, it was pretty black but the shadows were starting to form into shapes; grass, rear view mirror,
broken glass. He closed his eyes again - that sounds like running water and what the fuck is cutting into my neck? His
thoughts weren't all there but they were coming back. He rubbed his face; his hands were like industrial sandpaper
with shards of glass embedded in them.
It was coming back. They were in the car. They'd left Burney's party after Lloyd had a barney with Sarah and they
were pissed. Not drunk, not over the limit, not a bit worse for wear but well and truly rat-arsed, donnered, trollied.
Lloyd had been out back arguing with Sarah when he came storming through, grabbed Trout and pulled him away from
young Marie, who always looked dirty - especially so tonight, and off to the car. Lloyd was fuming and Trout didn't argue.
He never argued with his much bigger mate, he just followed in his wake, enjoying the ride. The more Lloyd talked the
faster he drove.
'That fucking bitch talk to me like that? Like that? Fucking slag! Fucking bitch!' Louder, faster, faster, louder, faster,
faster. Trout opened the glove compartment to take his box out. Lloyd was driving fast but the road was straight. Skin
up.
And that was it. Now he was here, upside down and getting cold. Where was fucking Lloyd?
(c) Gareth J Mews 2009