Somewhere close to nowhere in particular there's a dismal place inhabited by a collection of singularly minded individuals.
Black. White. Brown. Ginger. And Beige. And a few who couldn't make up their mind. Spot. Double Spot. And Tiger Stripe.
Tiger Stripe has the biggest balls. Useful for settling arguments. And apparently the ladies like it. He presumes.
They inhabit a derelict factory where (almost) nobody else goes.
They share a common language. A funny handshake. And a hidden secret.
Not two kilometres away in a grey misty diesel smelly truck-stop, Vladjek Mislovic shuffles in ever decreasing circles around a large white van. Protest banner held low: "the end is nigh / the end is high"
Drug addict. Dyslexic. And dystopian. But not necessarily in that order. Vladjek looks to the sky where the sun isn't shining.
The white van, with it's barrels of genetically modified peanut butter, pulls out of the lay-by, narrowly missing Vladjek's left leg.
His right leg isn't so lucky.
The mist clears. Vladjek lies motionless between the massacre of tarmac and potholes.
Tiger Stripe's balls start to stir.
Things were about to change.
For ever.
To be continued....
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