"Pete? Nah, nobody called Pete here any more." The caretaker leaned on his broom as he looked around the cavernous and echoing room, peering into the dark corners that the yellow light from the single bare bulb didn't seem to penetrate. He returned his attention to the oil stained concrete floor. "Messy bugger whoever he was!" He muttered to himself.

After what seemed a suitably long enough pause for most visitors to get bored and leave, he looked up again. "You still here? OK then. If you need to contact the former occupier you can try this address." He pulled a crumpled piece of notepaper from his back pocket, unfolding it and squinting at the single line of writing scrawled on it. "Where did I leave me bloody glasses?" He muttered once more, evidently unaware of the smudged glasses perched high on his bald forehead. "Here, you can read it for yerself."


I can be contacted on pete_johnsonZZZ@hotmail.com (remove the anti-spam 'ZZZ' first)


"Double Dutch to me but then I just sweep the floor here." With that the conversation was over and he made for the door. "If ye're staying, turn out the light when you go."