Dead of Winter
“There are lumps in it.’ James Stephens, The Crock of Gold It was early next morning when Karl awoke to a million wasps rattling about inside his eardrums. Elsewhere, another type of noise was sounding, somewhere in the bedroom.
‘Huh…?’It was his mobile phone, resting on the bedside table.He tried ignoring the incessant screeching, but the more he tried, the more the migraine headache drilled its way into the side of his skull.Surrendering, he reached and lifted the annoying piece of plastic... to his ear.
‘Hello?’ he asked in a groggy, injured tone.‘Karl? What the hell took you so long?’ asked an annoyed voice. ‘I was about to hang up.’‘Tom…? Sorry…I…oh, my fucking head…’ moaned Karl, hand squeezing tight against his forehead. ‘It’s Saturday morning. Don’t you ever go home?’ ‘Sounds like you over-indulged in something, and I’m not talking about vitamins.’‘Went out for a meal last night with Naomi.MoreLess
‘Huh…?’It was his mobile phone, resting on the bedside table.He tried ignoring the incessant screeching, but the more he tried, the more the migraine headache drilled its way into the side of his skull.Surrendering, he reached and lifted the annoying piece of plastic... to his ear.
‘Hello?’ he asked in a groggy, injured tone.‘Karl? What the hell took you so long?’ asked an annoyed voice. ‘I was about to hang up.’‘Tom…? Sorry…I…oh, my fucking head…’ moaned Karl, hand squeezing tight against his forehead. ‘It’s Saturday morning. Don’t you ever go home?’ ‘Sounds like you over-indulged in something, and I’m not talking about vitamins.’‘Went out for a meal last night with Naomi.MoreLess
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