There are two Kmart ceilings, two sets of kids, two towers of shelves, two sets of curious eyes studying me.
My head throbs, though my hands are worse. They’re purple and agonised. The kids have chained my wrists using bicycle locks to two–oh, come on, you shitheads–a toilet and a dehumidifier? Seriously?
I yank each hand. The dehumidifier falls on its face. The toilet stays in place. Where am I? Dark corner, white shelves, white floor, white ceiling… Plumbing supplies.
Cool.
‘HelloOOOooo? Kids? C’mere.’ My wrists complain each time I twist. I notice small clear shoelaces of plastic. They’ve used cable ties to link my hands to the padlocks. ‘Let me go before you get a Time Out. Seriously.’ Pyramid. Shunting cars. Everyone bonding over an unexpected game of soccer. Then a blow on the he
