Too-Early o'clock came around far too quickly, as far as Jasfoup was concerned, and the sound of heavy metal coming from the speaker of his clock radio was not the most soothing in the morning. He focused bleary eyes upon the tuner. That was certainly not the station he'd tuned into before going to bed last night, he preferred the soft music of the golden years and the dulcet, cultured tones of radio three. This was some local radio station where the announcer spoke in a mixture of street patois, broken English and broad Scots, sounding like a Glaswegian who had spent his formative years on an oil rig manned by skateboarding Australians. Tempted as he was to hit the snooze button, he instead turned the radio off and stood up stepping, as his foot toucked the floor, upon the stub of a pencil.
“Bugger in Hell,” Jasfoup ejaculated. A low groan drew his sticky gaze to the usually unoccupied other side of his bed where a not-quite-slim mound terminated in a shock of multi-coloured, frizzy hair. Memories clawed their way forward: images of a bar, or two, and a Scottish truck-driver girl and too many beers to count and driving rock music and rough hands grabbing his arse while a rough tongue inspected his mouth and, Jesus, what was that itch below his belt line?
“You’ll want ta watch where you’re walking,” a lilting mumble told him. “Dropped all me stuff over there.”
“I found it,” Jasfoup said and scratched himself. What had he told himself? Quit the drinking or--
“What time is it, darlin’?” The bed mound moved; the morning light was unkind.
Jasfoup looked at the clock again. “It’s just after Too-Fucking-Late o’clock,” he said.
Opening: Rachel Green.....Continuation: ril