#odahqstory

Having said that, I don't think you can read too much into these things. Unless, of course, they're the instructions for a nuke.    

Sitting here, listening to my music, one question springs to mind. How do I know that I'm listening to the music and not that it's listening to me?    

'What do you think of me, honestly?' 'Honestly?' 'Yeah.' 'The answer to that should be obvious from the fact that I'm here.'    

He turned away, the smoke still rising from the bullet hole he left in the other guys forehead. As he did, his mobile phone rang. 'Is it done?' 'You doubt me?' 'Shazam.' He was surprised by what happened next.    

So, it's come down to me. Last man standing and everything to play for. I will not let them down. Not if I value my life. Literally.    

Nails in the wall, nails in my hands, nails in my feet. You know something? When I said to this bunch that I wanted to get a better feeling for what our Lord and Saviour went through, I didn't quite mean like this.    

'Do you remember what I said to you yesterday?' 'Not a word, sorry.' 'Great. That was important information there.' 'I'm not your fucking personal walking dictaphone!' 'I thought you were.' 'Why?' 'You somehow remember every word of every fucking argument we have.'    

Everyone bangs on about the so called quarter life crisis. I don't believe in it myself. At 25, you should be using a zimmer frame. Joe Maggs, age 10.    

And now, the end is here. And so we face the final curtail. Bloody closing time. Why do we need it? I could do with a few more, possibly help me forget. And that is indeed it. A mere 4 hours after all the other participants, I'm finished ODAHQ. I;m going to leave the donations…

It wasn't so much as rain as if someone had upturned a huge bucket of water on the place. Cursing, Stuart grumbled his way around making his deliveries. He got a slight surprise when one parcel, which needed to be signed with, was received with the person commenting that the hand he'd just bought...