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LOS COCOTEROS, SUNDAY 24 MARCH 2019Billy eyed himself in the wardrobe mirror. He looked gaunt. He turned side-on and sucked in his belly. There was a definite concave below the diaphragm. And he could see his ribs. He went closer and examined his face. His cheeks were hollow. He could tell that even through his beard. He was wasting away.
And he was ravenous.
There was no point going to the kitchen. He was down to the knob of his last salami. He had an old packet of potato crisps in the pantry – the use-by date was last year – and half a jar of olives in the fridge. Tea bags. No coffee. The UHT milk was long gone, and the freezer contained a tray of ice cubes and a bag of frozen spinach he bought last month and never fancied. He should throw it out. Although he supposed he could fry
