Excerpt: Four Leaf.

Ethan sat on the sofa, his feet curled beneath him, his sleeves covering his hands, a mug (it had a smiley face on it) of instant coffee on the table in front of him and a book on his lap. In the corner of the room, Rory was jogging on the spot as he played Tetris on his phone. The television was also on, playing some strange game show and dousing the room in a blueish light, but nobody was paying any attention to it.

“Fuck me, it's cold,” Rory grumbled, jumping a few times. “Why isn't the heating working yet?” Ethan shrugged. He'd called the landlord, who told them he'd get someone out to fix it as soon as possible. That had been two days ago. Ethan turned a page in his book.

“It could be worse.”

“How could it be worse? I have no feeling in my fingers. I suspect my feet have turned black and are preparing to fall off.”

“A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out of a moving car,” Ethan recited, not looking up from his book.

“Ethan, man, you're messed up,” Rory said, pausing in his click, click, tap, tapping and his jog-jumping.

“It's a quote,” Ethan said, finally looking up. “From Fight Club.”

“That book film thing you're always quoting?” Ethan nodded. “Still messed up.” Ethan laughed, slipping a bookmark onto the page he was reading a closing the book. He stood up, arching his back as he stretched. Shivering slightly, he padded towards the corner designated as the kitchen, his socks slipping on the wooden floors. He opened the fridge, noting how empty it was looking and wondering how much money they could put towards the food shopping this week.

“Have you heard back from that cafe yet, Rory?” He asked, pushing aside half a tin of baked beans. “It's nearly been a week since you had the interview. I thought they liked you?”

“Not yet, but they said it could take a while.” Ethan hummed. Just earlier that day, he'd been rejected for a job in a petrol station. He had another interview tomorrow, at a supermarket. “What's for dinner?” Rory called.

“Baked beans and...” Ethan stepped away from the fridge, can of beans in hand to look at the counter. “Bread I'll probably have to scrape the mould off of.” He kicked the fridge door closed, set the tin of beans on the counter and opened the packet of bread. “Correction, bread I definitely will have to scrape the mould off of.”

“Lovely,” Rory grimaced. “Such fine and wonderful cuisine.”

Click. Click. Tap. Fecker. Jump. Hop. Jog.