The black spine of the city juts up against the pale orange glow rising over the horizon. The water runs dark into the sink and spirals into the plughole. He washes the blood off with the light off so he doesn’t have to see himself in the bathroom mirror. There are cuts on his knuckles. The side of his mouth is torn. He doesn’t remember why. Guilt gnaws at his guts. He feels sick. But he doesn’t know why. He feels sated.
Paddy Dobson
31st May 2021