He was a right mess,

totally fucked up, battered,

and as he staggered and stumbled

around the car park, he attempted

to flog the packs of batteries that

he’d just lifted from the pound-land.

 

He had no chance,

couldn’t even speak, the words

fell out of his mouth, broken, blurred

and slurred. He sat on the

kerb in front of the shop, and began

to lean on the shoulder of an invisible

 

and intangible companion.

He slumped onto the pavement, and

then rolled onto his back and smoked

his cigarette right down to the filter.

Eventually, he got up and headed

over to the road. As he crossed, he

 

dropped some of the

batteries and bent over to pick

them up. The driver didn’t see him.

He was flipped over the bonnet and

into the windscreen, and then he hit

the ground. He didn’t move after that.