On the tiles with Leon - Part 2

Now the sinking I feel is entirely Leon’s fault. Another two, maybe three minutes and I would have been out of the door, flagging down a taxi, probably even already on my way home to a comfortable bed. Now I’m duty bound to help.

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a nice guy. After all, if I could only care less, I wouldn’t be sucked into other people’s dramas so readily, so willingly…

Shouting into my phone, ignoring the evil looks from those around me, I try to get Leon to tell me where he is. The phone just goes dead in my hand.

I ask the people around me, the ones that might know Leon – and many people know Leon and his famous muttonchops – where he is but nobody knows. The most promising idea is that he has gone outside to smoke.

I head outside and get blasted by cold as soon as I step out the door.

I shove through the pockets of smokers clustered by the entrance, huddling together for warmth, neon penguins in their trendy clubware, hands rammed into the pockets of skinny jeans, shoulders hunched against the wind. I can't see Leon anywhere and all my enquiries are greeted with blank stares.

I try to phone him again but it just rings on and on.

So… I try using my intuition. I turn left, the wind at my back, and walk down the street. At the corner I turn left to get out of the wind and that's where I find Leon, lying on the ground, shirtless, flailing weakly, rolling gently from side to side, huge scratches weeping blood down his chest and arms.

"ferchrissake," I mutter. I follow it up with a loud, clear, "Leon?" but only manage to elicit more rolling and some pathetic mewling. I kick the sole of his shoe and bark his name.

This time his eyes roll to look at me and he holds his arms up and open as though to embrace me, a stupid grin plasters itself across his face.

"Pynch!" he says. "Fuckin' Pynch! I fuckin' love you, man."

I sigh and take his hand, haul him to his feet. He grabs me in monstrous bear hug, pinning both my arms to my sides, and leans all of his weight into me. We both stumble a few steps and I step off the kerb to keep from falling over, only to have a cab blare its horn and swerve wildly, missing me by inches.

“Leon,” I say gently in his ear. “Let go of me.” But he doesn’t.

In fact, he appears to be rubbing himself against me.

I have no choice.

I pinch his nipple.

Hard.

He leaps away with a squeal, rubbing his chest with his hand. I watch him stagger backwards and collide with a low wall. And I wince as he tumbles a lazy cartwheel over and vanishes.