The tall shadow shifts, and the only forewarning they have is the sudden hint of shifting light. Like a dying timber, Kris lists forward and through the glass coffee table immediately in front of him, landing with a loud crash in a boneless heap, face first onto the floor. A rag flutters to the earth like some broken butterfly. There is a chorus of gasps, one high-pitched micro-shriek, and a rumbling good-natured laugh.
“Is he okay?”
“Be fucking careful - careful, there’s glass everywhere.”
“Somebody put that can of Black Jack away for now.”
A tiny shadow detached itself from the arm of a dilapidated couch and curled up next to the fallen one. “Kris? Kris, are you in there? Are you here?”