You feel the weight of the past behind you. That same weight is being transported up ahead. You go downstairs, open the backdoor and listen to the hiss of lorries on the distant M42. Sometimes that helps a bit. You can't escape the past. Not when the past is someone called Dave who insists — absolutely insists — you're going to remember, you're going to let him into your house, he's going to sleep in your bed, he's going to drink your whisky… This story by Jon Fortgang will make you wonder why you don't have more of an idea of who Jon Fortgang is. It's that good. He's that good.