<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Party<\/strong><\/p>\n He slips into the house, puts his pack of beer on the kitchen table, takes a can and He goes to the kitchen.\u00a0 He notices that each electric socket has an energy-meter He suddenly turns, looks at the door, rushes back to the kitchen where lights are on, away from the music he so hates. He looks to the doorway. He laughs. He tries the front room again, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nwalks from room to room, staying a while in the back room.\u00a0 The IKEA
\nfurniture’s pushed against the walls exposing a floor of wooden panels.
\nHe returns to the kitchen.
\nThere are bowls of crisps on the work surfaces. He takes a handful with him into the
\nback room where the music is loudest. He sits on the settee for a while, then on the
\nfloor in the corner. He looks around. There is an illuminated fishtank, a piece of wood
\ncellotaped over the top. He notices that each electric socket has an
\nenergy-meter.<\/p>\n
\nthere too. He gets one of his cans, takes two big swigs and then carefully tops it up with wine, carries it to the front room. He stands, sipping occasionally, then sits on
\nthe floor in the corner for a while. He stands in the hall,
\ngoes up two steps, looks back at the front door. He concentrates on his bladder.
\nHe goes up three more steps. A window’s beside him. He sees a delivery van down
\nthe road, a man carrying box after box of groceries into a house. He sees the
\nlittle shops opposite. Many have objects hung over their doors – the shoe-shop
\nhas a big boot; another has a something like a gramophone horn. Two more steps. He’s on
\nthe landing now. The bedroom doors are all closed. One has a Mondrian hung upside down.
\nOne is padlocked. He waits outside the toilet door, studies the cracking paint,
\nthe slight warping. He goes in, locks the door, only just undoes his flies in time.
\nSuch relief. He lets everything go. His head spins. He’s so drunk. There are thick rugs,
\nshelves of exotically favoured products, toothbrushes. Noticing a full-length
\nmirror he’s reminded of a science program from the night before, where it
\nsaid that you can’t see your eyes move in a mirror because your sight blanks
\nout. He wondered how many hours a day his eyes were in motion.<\/p>\n
\nThe crisps are mixed up. He doesn’t like Salt and Vinegar. Above the big table two pieces
\nof paper have been blutacked to the wall. One has column headings Name and Time, the other
\nsays that the world record for eating 100 sultanas one at a time is 44.65 seconds. On the
\ntable is a pencil, a basin of sultanas, some cocktail sticks, and a kitchen timer.<\/p>\n
\nsits on a chair, sits on the floor in the corner for a long time. He hears a
\nglass break. It was perched on a chair arm beside him. His eyes drift to the bookcase.
\n“For Whom the Bell Tolls” is in amongst the Bs. He wants to move it. He know he
\nshouldn’t. He goes into the kitchen, gets a can of his favourite beer, the beer
\nhe’d brought. He takes it to the utility room. It’s dark. When his eyes adjust he sees
\na candle in the middle of the floor. He sits cross-legged, concentrates on
\nthe flame. The rest of the room goes blacker. He feels dizzy. He returns to kitchen,
\nthinks about going home, opens one of his cans, goes to the back room to listen to
\nmusic that he doesn’t like, that he’s never liked. There’s a smell that wasn’t there
\nbefore. He waits in the hall, looks up the staircase then darts out of the front door.<\/p>\n