TODAY; 12.20pm:

When I arrive, I survey the barn for changes but everything is exactly the same: The clock says I've been gone for ten more minutes.

I get up, put on my puffer jacket and look for the Yellow pages. It is propping up the leg of the table on the uneven floor. I search for Doctors and then think about phoning a couple, but I don't know what to say, or whether they would get here in time. 'Fuck it!' I think, 'I could die in this fucking barn after all this!' I hear a sound outside the barn and go to look. I peer through a crack in the barn door and scan the valley. At the end of the drive, 100 yards away, I see a car parked.

The driver seems to be looking this way, but then pulls himself from the opened door and reaches in to retrieve a pair of crutches. He fixes them under his arms and hops to the front of the car and pops the hood.

'Panic over.' I think, as I go to change. A fucking t-shirt and jeans in this weather! No worries. It'll only be for a minute. The Uzi sits on the table and I think about loading up a few more magazines as I use the clippers to give myself a Number Four.