the door was shut, the spy hole open, meaning they could look in at him at any time. He listened for footfalls outside, for air moving in the corridor. Being perpetually on show required a condition of alertness, so much so that he had stopped swallowing his medication on alternate days. They gave everyone in here medication, to make them slow and malleable. Slo-mo pills to make the population manageable. He wanted to have been off everything before the case came up. He had things to do. He lay on his bed, turned to the wall so that his face was hidden, and thought about her. Cheap clothes, hair tidied. If his friend did as he had promised, Maureen would start to get the envelopes soon. He tried to imagine her looking at the pictures the shock, the dismay, disgust even, perhaps being excited by it. Probably not. He rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head, crossing his feet. There was a crack on his ceiling, a ragged pencil line coming from a corner.
