Javier Andres Gomez woke, startled. This was not his apartment, not his bed, not his clothes. What was going on?

They had moved rooms in the apartment block? No. This was simply incorrect he concluded. He decided, rather anxiously,

that he was just awake in a dream. Because even his flat wasn't as run down and musty as this was... but then it dawned on him.

*

The Galley, the apartment block that the family used to live in, before the 'family' part of it died away was rather shabby, but

beyond repair. That sort of place. It was no sort of place for someone so; well... unusual, lets put it. The family had once gone

to the beach, that was before the passing away of Pedro Juan Gomez. Not long before Maria Jesus Cristobel. He had been living

with his Grandparents from his fathers or padre's (father in Spanish) side ever since. They weren't very nice. They made hims do

all the chores whilst they sun bathed beneath the sun and drank Coca Colas.

The Grandparents were originally from Scotland. Their names Nick McDonald and Julie Milroy. Although after decades of living is spain,

they had picked up an acceptable Spanish accent. His bed: A rug lay down on the tiles in the bathroom. And to be honest, the rug was

so tattered, Javier actually preferred not having it on him at night. the bags under his eyes represented his lack and deprivation from

sleep. The Grandparents often realised that he wasn't using the rug so they started to call him things like ungrateful.

They blackmailed him. No other word for it. Until, that is, Javier had a thought.