He comes in like a vampire, materialising over where I sleep on the floor under my quilt of countries.
It’s late morning, judging by the light.
‘HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET IN HERE?!’
‘Easy, tiger.’ Ötzi has a content, drunken grin on his lips. ‘Magicians never reveal their secrets.’
The ugly day before returns to my brain in an upsetting instant. My cut-up stomach and terrible sleep. Humans turned to statues by ionised air, clear and deadly as poison gas. No way out. Stuck inside with Hitler.
‘Help me out of here immediately, dude. I command you.’
‘It’s not that easy.’ Ötzi runs a hand through his honey-coloured hair. It’s a thick, greasy bush of shiny dark blond curls. Surfer hair. Sexy hunk hair. ‘Are you hurt? What’s he done to you?’
‘Just squeezed my neck a bit. I’m staunch, don’t
