John Star - Part One by Dave Rigby
A body is stretched out on the threadbare carpet. A nearby coffee mug, tipped on its side, has dribbled out an artistic brown stain. The front window blind is tight-closed, refusing to let in any bit of a pale morning light. A pair of candles in ornate wooden holders, have burnt down almost to nothing. Evidence of another power cut. The walls and ceiling are covered in rough woodchip wallpaper. Two pendant lights, housed in large paper lanterns, hang down in the middle of the room. The radio on the top shelf of the bookcase is playing uncomplicated classical music to itself. There’s movement on the floor. A leg stretches, a groan, a hand moves to the forehead. John Star wakes gradually, every limb stiff after a night of broken sleep on the floor. He thinks back. That punk band in the Rocket . They were good. But he can’t remember what they were called. Maybe he should start drinking less. A small alarm clock, dangerously close to his ear, bursts into life and his left-h...