Introduction 5

He was too busy looking behind himself, that he didn't notice what was in front.

Handysides barrelled straight into the poor guy, the impact sending them both flying across the alley. He was way too worried to stop and apologise though - fear had hold of him. He started lifting himself off the floor, but became aware of something round his ankle.

"Ya cud a'least sa sorry" rasped the voice. Even through the fug of his own drunkenness, the stench of strong spirits cut through to Handysides' brain. Grasping hold of his ankle was a truly sorry figure, dressed in rags, covered in matted hair, his bleary eyes focussed on the bag of alcohol in Handysides' hands.

He could hear voices. They were out of the pub and closing in.

"Take the booze, I don't need it!". Flinging the carrier bag to the floor, Handysides kicked out with his free leg. Feeling the hand around his ankle losing and ignoring the muffled cry, he staggered upright and carried on running.

He;d only made it to the next street when he heard the gunshot behind him. And then he carried on running, back towards his flat.

Handysides hadn't always been a failure. But tonight he'd made sure he could carry on being a failure for a few years yet.