headed from the shock and giddy with raw emotion. Naomi peered at him in unbroken astonishment, trying to force a contorted smile onto her greying face. She quivered as she continued to hold Harris's pale blue hand. Then, to her great relief, the cleaver dropped with a clatter to the floor, having fallen from Harris's right hand as he slipped out of conscious� ness from loss of blood. At the next stop, Naomi decided it might be best to get off with the other screaming passengers. As she hurried along the platform, she delicately wrapped Harris's hand in a plastic carrier bag, and popped the severed appendage into a recycling bin. Then, after a brief period of vomiting, she caught the next train to Tooting Bec, where she met her old friend Clara Hen outside of Argos. Harris now gets the bus to work.
I AIN P INN IS A SHORT STORY WRITER OF LIMITED REPUTE AND ALSO an enthusiastic poet. His stories have never been published, but his poetry has been laughed at by a handful of people—often at the wrong times. He lives in South East London with his despairing wife.
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