Thirty three years old and totally naked, the first sensation led him to believe, for a microsecond, he’d gotten pissed and been thrown in the pool again, but it’s not summer and he’s been sober for sixteen months. Screaming mute through warm red goo, he swims up to find the edge and detects only infinite soft walls. There are indistinguishable things floating in here. Panic, panic! He can hear the booming voice outside. All bass at first, then he can make out single words – Kick, big, healthy, baby… A huge tapping sound can be heard against the edge of the wall, he swims back away. An exit must be found, God has made a mistake here! There is one way out, by the looks, but weakened he cannot push through. Plus there is a pink restraining chord pushing from his stomach, holding him in place. So more sleep to be had. More sleep to be grabbed. Time appears to have stopped. I’ll have lost it all out there, my keg changing job, my little flat with the damp walls, who is looking after my goldfish, is an immediate investigation is taking place? Days pass, all follicles fall out, weeks pass, jawline, Adam’s apple shrink as the skull swells, months pass, there is a slow forgetting of words, of memories. Finally the big day falls, the red ending is here, and so screaming and crying under skull compression and trauma, he finally comes back to earth through white stained gloved hands. Wrapped in a little duck blanket, with a nice nipple in mouth, nothing seems wrong anymore.