Going into the kitchen,
Paul noted the pile of unwashed crockery overflowing the sink and
spilling onto the worktop. Opening the fridge he spied the pizza
box on the top shelf. The only other items in the fridge were cans
of lager, and something green and unpleasant lurking at the back of
the bottom shelf. Paul didn’t feel brave enough to investigate. He
hoped whatever it once was hadn’t poisoned the pizza.
Picking his way back to
Thommo’s living room, narrowly avoiding tripping over various
bicycle parts, a broken ironing board and a partially dismantled
home gym, Paul knew he couldn’t stay there for more than a couple
of nights.
“So, your place a total
disaster area, then?” Thommo asked before turning on his TV. The
huge plasma screen set was the only concession Thommo had made to
modernity.
Paul bit back his first
thought. “Yeah. Fucking take months to get it sorted.”
He settled himself on the
sofa, its springs twanging. Thommo had wisely headed for the