They've followed me home - the one with the dog-breath in the tattoo bar says something in a language that I don't uderstand. The street stinks of p**s and dead fish. Jump a garden wall, barefoot on the slimy grass, air raw in my lungs. Hear him swear as he stumbles and falls behind me. Down another cobbled street, footsteps bouncing off the walls. Which way? A bottle smashes. The glint of a blade in the moonlight. Someone laughs, the corner's turned... and it's too late. The first blow falls (azchords.com)
