For the third straight night the food lies undisturbed. The rectangular plastic tray watches, gloomy and forlorn, clinging to the corner walls inches away from the single door, still expectant as she   desperately waits for the intended beneficiary to come and partake of her offerings.

Unmindful to all such overtures, in another opposite corner, just under the window that streams in the barest of light from the outside world, sits Bob, crouched on all fours, his hands cupping his head.

Part of a three part story… continue reading here