Brian from accounts is lying on top of me.
At work he approaches my desk soundlessly. Says ‘Alright honey pie?’ in a low nasal drawl. I spend most of my working days thinking about knocking him out with a hole punch.
Wales hasn’t bonded us.
We want to escape the cold.
But I slipped. My ankle has doubled in size. I can’t move my leg.
The others have gone for help. Brian stayed and suggested he lie on top to keep each other warm. Actually a good idea.
They’ve been gone hours. His breath smells like fish pie.