He pisses in his boxers and ties them in a Sainsbury’s carrier —one from before the 5p charge—flimsy. Thrown into the unmown, amongst the unrust; slides and swings and things. This time attempted asphyxiation was meant to keep the boxers quiet its fly shut, hush. They wish it was their head in the bag. A strange pumpkin looking thing hits the ground and exhales for the first time since he walked in. Looking for glass clues finding them emptied.