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my foot upon his knee, feeling
it crack. Before he reeled backwards I threw a punch straight into
his face. It struck him and followed through, throwing him back
into the heavy TV set. I picked him up by the hair, and began
hammering his head into the set until blood flew and I was engulfed
by bodies.
    Then, on the cold curb of some
alleyway, the music a muffled distant booming, I was crying into
Josie’s shoulder.
    “I’m sorry, Josie.”
    “He deserved it.”
    “I broke his head.”
    “You’re just a lion with a thorn
in his paw.”
    “Boy with a thorn in his
side?”
    “Same thing.”
    “My mum’s a bitch.”
    “Mine too.”
    “Is he dead?”
    “He’s fine. Anyway, fuck
him.”
    “Yeah. Fuck him.”

    The second floor seemed to be
much tidier than downstairs, less a hang-out and more of a place
people slept. To my right was a passage, and at the end of it a
door. I walked towards it and knocked. No answer. I knocked
again.
    The fourth time I knocked the
door swung open, and a half naked Sewerbird stood before me.
    “What?!”
    “Hey. I’m looking for a girl you
spoke to a while ago.”
    “I’m sorry man,” he chuckled.
“I’m not bragging or anything, but I meet so many girls. I can’t
help you.”
    “You’ll remember her. Her name
was Josephine, she had curly blond hair.”
    He looked at me for a second. I
noticed his eyes glance towards my missing arm.
    “No, I’m not gonna remember.
Sorry, do you mind? I’m here with my girlfriend, I’d rather
not…”
    He made to close the door and I
put my hand on it to stop him.
    “She was murdered. I’m finding
out who by.”
    “Are you police?”
    “She was writing a book. She
wanted to interview you.”
    His eyes lit up.
    “Oh! Josie?”
    “Yeah, Josie.”
    “Yeah man! ‘Course I remember
her. She was something else.”
    He opened up the door and
invited me in.
    His room was different from the
rest of the house. It seemed more like a cave than a room. The
space was larger than any other, and in the middle of it remnants
of a dividing wall lay around the walls and ceiling. There was no
wallpaper: The walls a mixture of grey cement and the occasional
patch of red brick. No carpet either. There weren’t many
furnishings apart from a bed on the other side of the divide (which
seemed altogether cleaner), a paint-splattered table, and some
mismatched wooden chairs. Around the edges of the room remnants of
various objects were strewn. Pieces of factory machines, pipes,
paint cans, clothes, electronic equipment—nothing indicated an
order or purpose.
    Sewerbird opened a fridge and
pulled a few beers out, offering me one. I saw a shape beneath the
covers of his bed shift and settle.
    “So you’re not police then?”
    “No. I’m Josie’s boyfriend.”
    “I see. How did you find me
then?”
    “Found some old news stories
about you. One of them mentioned this place.”
    “Find out anything else about
me?”
    “Only that a lot of people like
you, and a lot of people don’t.”
    “Haha, right. Always like that
if you dare to do something original.”
    There was a smugness about him I
didn’t like. Even though he seemed amiable, something about it was
self-conscious. I wondered again what had interested Josephine; she
would have sussed him out in seconds.
    “Are you working on anything
now?” I asked.
    “Always, man. I’m going to do
something really big.”
    “What?”
    “I shouldn’t tell you, but
you’re cool. I can tell. Friend of Josie’s is a friend of mine. So
I’ll let you in on it. I’m gonna build a big delete-man. A few of
them in fact, then stand them up in a couple of places—can’t say
where though. Problem is doing it in three dimensions.”
    I knew he would have told me
where if I’d asked again, his ego was far stronger than his sense
of secrecy. Instead I asked: “What’s a delete-man?”
    He threw me a puzzled look,
before back-tracking.
    “Never mind, man.”
    I decided to let it go. I wasn’t
interested