“James…” she nudged me gently as she whispered in my ear. I grunted. I don’t like waking up. “James!” she shook me a little harder and exclaimed a little louder. I opened one of my eyes half way. They were gooey with contact lens-induced eye glue. I slowly sat up.

“There’s a horse at the door!” She exclaimed.

“What?” I repied. “But it’s a Sunday!” I don’t think she understood.

I spilled out of bed and stumbled to the dresser, still mostly blind, dessicated and dehyrdrated. I scooped up the baggies and hid them in the drawer, dunked my hands into the water pint and rubbed my eyes. I put on a smile and grabbed the envelope from the armoir, and sauntered innocently downstairs. I opened the door.

“Nigel.” I said.

“You’re late, Gary. Over a month late.” Said the horse.

“I know Nigel, I’m sorry. It’s a Sunday. It’s early. This isn’t the best time…”

“I need your rent. Bad things will happen if I don’t get that rent, Gary.”

I nodded in submission. “Look, here’s half.” I handed him the envelope. “I can get the rest to you on Tuesday.”

Gary took the envelope in his mouth. He sniffed and peered behind me. “Someone here?” He asked.

“No Nigel.” I replied. “Just been doing some cooking.”

Nigel grunted suspiciously and looked back at me. He backed away, staring me down. “I’ll be back Tuesday, Gary. Remember: bad things. Bad things.”

Nigel turned away and trotted off.