1Alan Michael Evans wakes up and finds himself in a world of hurt.
First thing he's aware of is the headache. His eyes still closed, he can actually see it, pulsing in time with his laboured heartbeat in sick red strobes across the backs of his eyelids. The pain squeezes his temples, threatening to squirt brain matter from his ears. If only it would. Anything to relieve the pressure.
As his senses slowly come alive in reluctant, frightened stages, he feels the gurgling sickness in his guts, which ache with the pain of strained muscles, presumably pulled in the action of an almighty spew. That makes sense, because he can still recognise stale vomit amid the foul concoction of tastes in his mouth, alongside the memory of a thousand cigs and a bath of Jack n Coke. When he breathes in, the i
