Urban horror short story
Whoo a gust of foetid breath puffed from the gaping city loop tunnel to swirl and disperse about the larger space, pushed by what was coming. Definitely a bit of a morning whiff, that, not midnight breath. An "all the beer's dry 'an me toothbrush's arsed" aroma. Just enough to make Randal gag quietly into his cupped palm. Faint and sick.
Desperate for a wee, too. Too much coffee. Meanwhile his inflamed eyes went all around, checking, assessing. Picking nervously at an incipient subterranean claustrophobia. Paranoid that his solid paunch was somehow expanding to fill the subway.
It was dread, you see. Pure skin-peeling dread and Randal needed to be brave like he'd never been...
It had only slowly dawned that he was in fact subsisting in a flat beneath General Fucking Broncawei, a war criminal. But once it had, every creak and shudder of the ceiling became especially ominous.
Abstract can be enjoyed as part of Vu Ja De: Collected Short Stories Volume Three.