Keith stumbled across the road, vodka still burning. She’d better have his dinner waiting. Better be hot, or she’d get what she deserved.
The horn blared as he lurched into the street. Close one! He turned to shout abuse at the taxi driver, but the bus was already there. Early, for once.
He ran the last few metres, a sharp pain stabbing his ribs. The driver opened the door without looking up—unfamiliar, expressionless face.
“Oh. Where’s Desmond tonight?”
No response.
Keith climbed aboard, wincing at the stitch in his side. The driver didn’t even glance at his pass.
An ambulance screamed past, blue lights flashing.
The bus pulled away into darkness thicker than any Keith remembered. No other passengers. No streetlights outside. His ribs throbbed.
“Hey, where we going?”
Finally, the driver turned, his eyes black holes.
“Your new home, Keith.”
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