Trolley Boy

"You want to see something?" the trolley boy said. "I ain't shitting you. It's something."

He lit a cigarette, blew smoke in my face. "On my ten, got time." He smiled. "That is, if you're not scared."

I told him I wasn't. He grinned. Blew more smoke and led me down. Past all the trolleys. Down. Beneath the carpark. Down. Into the bowels of the shopping centre, to a hallway, its concrete walls stained with the sweat of the earth. Then along the hallway to a single unpainted wooden door.

"Open the door," he said.

I opened the door.

And there it was, in the tiny room beyond, a head in a trolley; eyes staring.

"Hello, mother," I said.