Aztecs, Man...

20th of December. The room was quiet. A barmaid was collecting empty pint glasses from beer-soaked mats.

“Aztecs, man. I’m telling you…” Pete rolled his eyes. All bloody year he’d been hearing this. “They knew something we didn’t, you know?” John was an interesting young man with dilated pupils and a penchant for baggy hats. At this moment he was gesticulating wildly. “Like, y’know, I heard our orbit is all screwed up…”

“whatever you say, John.” Pete stood to leave, draining the last of his drink. Not for the first time he wondered which illegal substance had resulted in the social anomaly that was John.

The fresh, warm air worked wonders for Pete as he set off in the general direction of home. His slurred mind failed to register the excessively early dawn which was breaking behind him.

By the time he reached his door the sun was up in the sky. He looked at his watch. 00:37. He tapped the watch. It was still ticking. He looked up again in alarm.

The sun seemed to be getting closer, rather rapidly.

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