18
Codeine – Eric Clapton
When I got into my road, I walked up slowly, on the opposite side to mine, blimping parked cars for occupants. Nothing. The street was deserted. No strangers lurking in the shadows or belted raincoat-wearing individuals leaning on a lamp post pretending to read a newspaper like someone out of a Le Carré novel, waiting for me to return home.
I went up to my flat, and into the kitchen. Under the bright ceiling lights I checked my clothes. t-shirt, jacket, jeans, all ruined. I undressed, found a garbage bag, and dumped them all in the kitchen bin. I’d sort them out later. I was well pissed off. Not only that I’d allowed myself to be kidn*pped, but I was very fond of that jacket. Paul Smith as it happened, and not cheap.
Then I checked myself. The safety glass had
