[FuckingRotter]

Rotter looked at Tiffany, speculatively. "I think", he said nonchalantly, "You owe me".

He walked through the rubble of his house, to where the living room once was. He threw aside roof tiles, plasterboard, timber, as if it were match sticks, working hard, furiously, sweating, but not speaking. Tiffany stared, watching his shoulders work, his white vest blackened by soot and dust.

Eventually he uncovered a very heavy looking leather two seater sofa. Oxblood and ancient. He smiled ruefully at Tiffany. "I loved that sofa." He tossed it aside, revealing a hole containing a large hold all. He heaved it on to his right shoulder, grabbed Tiffanys wrist in his left hand.

"Come on."

To the sound of approaching sirens, they left by the garden gate, out in to the darkening Southwest London streets.