I headed back after organizing the final section of the warehouse only to spot a red sweater torn from its hanger. its dusty sleeves brushing the floor, it's curling weaves blowing out like a slipped ponytail. And suddenly I felt chilly.

Rounding the aisle in disbelief I found, in this underground facility, that the walls had been busted through. Approaching it, multiple layers of cement debris crackled under my feet. I narrowed my eyes. The lighting seemed incredibly dim as I got closer to the break, but eventually I broke through and was met by an angry, deep blue sky.

Alarms rang then. Layers of them, ones I was familiar with and newer, stronger ones that screeched and scraped the backs of my ears. Procedure training kicking in, I spun about. Then, I remembered that no one else was here. Only me. I guess normally you’re supposed to share these dramatic experiences with others, I thought. Then I spun again, embracing the absurdity of the situation, my heels stumbling as I headed back out the exit.

"What a fucking mess," I laughed, hands aloft, "And I'm responsible for nobody but myself."

My quarters were a few doors down, along a similar, low-ceiling corridor. Not all that separated from the stock. I passed a manager’s office -long defunct, the computer room or office –which became redundant as soon as the automated request system came in, and a shared space -cloakroom and kitchen combined– when there were shift workers during the busy periods. Now it was just me; worker, guard, janitor, cook, whatever was needed I did. The wage was not necessarily good, but the autonomy, the deserted loneliness, peace and quiet and remoteness – accomodation included in an era of ever-increasing rent hikes became languidly addicting…

The alarms still blared, louder now that they didn’t have the large warehouse to bounce around in…

I opened my door, wondering if this incident would make it so that it was the last time. Inside, a phone that had rang until death faced upwards on the office desk. Along with a few books, flicked through once and ignored: a mixture of fiction, motivation, educational and pleasure one atop the other forced to reckon with each in a small tower. Between two spindly metal chairs was a coffee table which wreaked havoc on my spine to bend over it after a few hours…on it the first model of iPod, the blocky square barely consuming any power.….Since the stock requests had dried out and there had been nothing to do for over a month, I had listened to the same nostalgic mix of indie and classic pop and rock and synth and emo and ska and jazz, while playing over and over a two-decked game of real-life Balatro. Sheets of paper recording numbers and mental math approximating my score. One deck for cards and the other deck scribbled over with improvised Jokers. A single white die for all other functions.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Out of habit, I sat down and had begun mindlessly flipping over a few cards before even questioning why I had come here. A bomb -missile or some sort of explosive or object had struck the side of his facility, this was an emergency, yet all I could think to do was to play a few rounds of improvised Balatro, have some food and sleep. The greater context barely hovered in mind. Why did this happen? Was I in further danger? Was the whole of Ireland in danger? But to answer those I’d have to charge my phone…and the facility’s system was meant to automatically dispatch emergency services I should probably just sit tight until they arrived.

Hungry, I walked up to my stack of cans alongside the stubby wall: Baked beans, meatballs, tuna, tinned olives and sundried tomatoes and pickles and beetroot. I’d gathered them over a month ago when I was told that business would be very slow for the next while, and there was no use for anyone except me on the grounds. Staying put like this, with nobody to bother me except the occasional beeping of the logistics request system seemed like a sweet deal. After a few days, those work requests did stop – though I was told it was extremely slow. Even the deliveries stopped. And I had just gone with the flow, happy enough to await further instruction while racking up wages. Of course, I wasn’t totally slacking off. I still kept myself busy organizing and sweeping up around the place, circling the facility twice daily to fill out the fire hazards report log.

But this whole thing with the bomb was going to move me back…out there. I’d probably have to explain what the hell this all was, and then after all that be expected to move. Again. The thought of having to find a new apartment in this city made me want to crawl under the covers and forget he ever saw the imploded warehouse wall. This whole situation sucked. I didn’t want to go –didn’t want to do anything.

Munching half a vinegary baby beet, I drew seven cards and laid them out. I was looking for a flush or something close to a straight. Well, I was one off. 4 diamonds: An ace, five, nine and jack. Taking the pad of unlined paper I used for tracking, I made a mark under a column that said ‘discards’. I was about to shuffle the other three cards and try to complete the flush when the alarm, still blaring till this point, let out a whimpering squeal and died.

And all the lights went out.

“Pain…”I grumbled, “In the aass!”