Chapter Seven
Through the peep hole Simon stares outside into the orange flashing night. His dripping nose is pushed up hard against the grimy door back. It leaves a wet mark. Stringing off as he moves away. He paces from foot to foot impatiently, furiously scratching at his arms. His ripped nails carve out thick blood lines up to his elbows.
“Great! Freaking gone. No. No. Frank!, I would never smoke Ice. Of course he can find out, sure! How? Has he got freaking eyes in my freaking kitchen? Nope. No eyes in there. In the bog? Nope.”
He sprints along the passage launching himself into his kitchen. With shaking, scabby blood soaked fingers, he takes out the red plastic box from the secret compartment in the fridge. Fumbling fingers cause the lid to fall open spilling the green Ice crystal
