Four mornings in a row now. Life is a cruel mistress! Four mornings in a row, before even the sun has raised his head I am hiding mine from a devilish pounding, a spectacular hang-over! No sleep to be had, none worthy of report anyway. Mourning number four. If this is it I’ve played enough.
There was a knock, “BANG BANG BANG”, and the whole caravan shook. “Jesus!” I shouted. “They want the whiskey!”.
Three boys in matching red shirts were standing tall at the bottom of the steps. I kicked open the door. As it swung, it got the largest of the three. Hard and true, in the face. He fell heavy but slow. A fist I’m certain was half brick got me to the ground quicker than my victim. I wasn’t aware it was a race. My ears and head were red hot and the hangover was blinding now. Hell sent.
I got to my feet, threw up a little, and grabbed the closest shirt collar while swinging wildly. They were gone when I came to.
It was not a graceful fight, or even one I was the winner of, but nonetheless I was proud. Proud I may never know the reason for their visit, and proud none if my circle of miscreants have ever worn matching red shirts.
Despot Degeneracy 