Work In Progress I wake up on the floor on my back. Something is digging into me so I fumble about and find an envelope, half hanging out my pocket. Billy is sat on his bed, rolly in hand, still half asleep, bleary eyed and looking at me as if for the first time, and starts rubbing his eyes and face. 'ugh my head.. Billy, what's this?' 'dunno man, open it, have a look. Can't remember any fuckin thing from last night me' I tear at the envelope clumsily but try not to damage the contents. It's... 'it's moolah, cash, full of fuckin money, bill!' 'eh?! Where the fuck has that come from?!' 'hmm.. where were we last night?' 'fuck knows mate... Eh, thats mad, did you have that with ya?' 'nah, why'd I carry a wedge around, would have spent it. Giz ya baccy , need a smoke to try and remember' I start counting out the notes. Billy is leaning over, relighting his rolly and we're exchanging puzzled glances. 'ere y'are, I'll make one for ya while ya count it' 'cheers man' I count it out on the floor, head hurting, hands shaking and starting to sweat. I have a flashback and check my pockets. There it is, a couple of bags of chester's finest brown. Buzzin. I can see Billy's eyes light up from their bleary state. 'got any foil, bill?' 'ye, hang on I'll go fetch it. Check me ma's not down there. Can I pinch a toot?' 'sound. Course man' I carry on counting whilst he half hobbles, half crawls out the room. A cloud of smoke follows him out into the hall, like that old tv show: stars in your eyes. I've a fair few stars in mine at the moment. I pile the notes into hundreds, becoming both excited and nervous at the sight of them. Where the fuck did all this come from?.. It's usual to wake up with a few lighters in your pocket, borrowed during the night, and occasionally someone's phone, but even for the messiest of nights, procuring a wad of notes in a sealed envelope is a tad puzzling. A spattering of memories usually start to flicker back into my head once the hangover starts to clear though, so for now I'll count the cash and wait.