Danny Singleton, or Dan as he preferred to be called lay there in darkness, unable to move, feeling ill. At first he didn’t remember how he ended up in the wheelie bin, but the stench of rotting fish quickly began to bring him round. Trying to think back to the events of the night before, everything just seemed either very hazy or very unbelievable. His last memory was that of being slumped on the pavement sobbing, and someone passing by dropping a bottle of vodka in his lap before walking out.

"You look like you need this more than me," he remarked matter-of-factly.

Normally Dan didn’t drink vodka, it had a habit of making him retch after each swig, but following the events of the last few weeks, he found it a welcome opportunity to drown out his thoughts, needs and memories. Events that had left a sick feeling in his stomach and a bitter taste in his mouth. He began to drink, and next thing he knew, he was here, in an industrial sized bin. Without a watch, he had no idea what time it was, his only knowledge of the fact it was daytime being the thin beams of sunlight shining through. They lit up the inside of his temporary home with a dull grey light. Particles of dust floated through the light, as though they were attracted to that part of the air (if you could call it air), and didn’t exist outside of the beam. Dan thought back to his childhood, where he used to pretend that the stream of light coming through his bedroom curtains was a tractor beam from a spaceship. His young and innocent self would spend an entire afternoon playing with his Star Wars toys, letting them get sucked up to the mother-ship, towards the window. It was a life that seemed so far removed from his world now. So innocent, so naïve, and for a moment Dan looked around and wondered exactly what had happened to him. The inside of the bin was dimly lit, but his eyes had adjusted to the light enough to see quite clearly. Most of the rubbish he lay on seemed to be cardboard boxes, plastic wrappers and polystyrene packing. It wasn’t actually that uncomfortable, and he understood why his drunken-self chose to sleep there. Much better than the usual drains and broken alleyway floors he had become accustomed to recently. Each of the walls were covered in a sticky white residue. It had begun to drip down the sides, and then dry, leaving a freeze-framed liquid state. Dan tried not to think about what it might actually be. There were a few catering sized tin cans, empty of course, but filled with a residue of sauce and mould. It didn’t really contribute to the overall pleasantness of the bin. On the other hand, however, it wasn’t as bad as the pile of seafood his feet were lying in.

That’ll be the stench then he thought

A small beam of sunlight shone through a pencil sized hole next to his head. It began to flicker. Something must be moving outside, and Dan didn’t really feel like making conversation right now, so he lay quietly. He listened quietly to the world go by, trying to think of a way to block out the smell of fish, when he heard a noise. It sounded like two men arguing … or perhaps they were just talking? Dan couldn’t tell. Whilst attempting to sit up, his footing slipped in some aquatic slime, and he spectacularly squashed one of the fish against the side of the bin with a loud squelch. It promptly exploded under the pressure, splattering fish guts, and releasing a stench greater than he had yet experienced that day. The stench, coupled with his increasing hangover suddenly overwhelmed him, and he threw up. Lying in a pool of vomit and fish guts, he curled up and moaned.

Just as Dan thought his situation couldn’t get much worse, it did. Someone lifted up the lid of the bin, letting the glaring sunshine of the day outside into his hideaway. He saw a silhouette of a man holding open the lid, the only thing to stop the glare of the sun going straight to his own eyes.

"Ahh for fucks sake" came a voice from the man, "here Frank, there’s a guy in here. He’s puking. Help me pull him out"

Dan could hear the second man, Frank, give a muffled reply from some distance away.

"Well finish up then and fuckin’ get over here" replied the first man

All the while Dan felt a little bit like a startled rabbit trapped in the headlights of a on-coming car. After a few more moments of bewilderment, Dan felt himself being hauled up out of the bin and dropped roughly onto the alleyway floor. Lying in a heap on the floor, the two men towered above him like parents about to tell off their naughty toddler. The sudden movement had sent his head spinning, and he threw up again, this time on the first mans shoes. Judging by the roughness of how he was pulled out of the bin, and the tone of his ‘rescuers’ voices, he knew this wasn’t a good action as soon as it happen. Unfortunately he had no choice in the matter.

Bugger. he thought, as he continued to send projectiles of vodka and stomach acid onto the shoes.

"You little shit, I just bought those" exclaimed the man, and with that kicked him hard in the gut. Dan convulsed and instantly threw up again. He felt like helpless observer as he watched the foot swing back ready to kick him again. It stopped.

" Whoa hold on, what the fuck do you think you are doing Jim?" asked Frank

"I’m beating the shit out of this fucking waste of time"

"Ease up on the guy a bit," said Frank to the relief of Dan, but his relief was a touch premature, "at least check his pockets first"

All Dan could think right now was that the day really wasn’t going as he could have hoped.

"What the fuck is the point in that Jim? We’ve just pulled the guy out of a fucking wheelie bin. Are you expecting him to have a winning fucking Lottery ticket on him? Look fuck this, let’s go to the pub."

"All right all right, it’s your round"

"Whatever"

Dan looked over to them as the men began to walk off. He breathed a sigh of relief, but then a look of panic came to his eyes. A craving suddenly erupted deep inside of him. An uncontrollable urge that told him that he was missing an opportunity. He sat up and raised his hand to the men.

"Wait!" he cried in the loudest voice he could muster up.

The two men looked back to him.

"Let me sing to you!" pleaded Dan. By now he was sitting upright on the floor of the alleyway, leaning against the wheelie bin that had been acting as his bedroom for the previous night. He forced himself to stand up. It was a real struggle, but he felt he had no choice. This could be his only chance of a fix all day, and despite the unpleasantness of his potential audience, he needed to take any opportunity he could get.

"Now what the fuck is this?" asked an infuriated Frank, more to himself than anyone in particular.

"Picture your self on a boat on a river," sang Dan, and it felt oh-so good. He could feel the rush of adrenaline wash away his hangover, and all his pains. For one sweet moment, he forgot about all the horrors he had experienced, the suffering he had had to endure. The two men began to walk back towards him.

"With tangerine trees and marmalade skies" continued Dan.

The intense pain across Dan’s face was instant, as Frank, or maybe Jim, threw his fist at it. Dan crumpled to the floor in a pathetic heap. All his pain, suffering memories and horrors came bursting back to him in an mental wave. The shock was so sudden that he shook, retched and vomited yet again on the feet of his attackers. He felt the force of a foot collide against his belly one more time, before the men started to walk away. Half-conscious, his body limp, Dan closed his eyes and groaned to himself.

"if there’s one thing I hate more than karaoke," muttered Jim as they left the alleyway, "it’s fucking karaoke addicts".

Chapter 2

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