Saturday Morning, could be 2am. The buzz and flicker of a dodgy striplight. Somewhere the bins need emptied. No sound but the low rasp of this shell of a man huddled on a stretcher. His oldest friend. Waiting for help. Waiting for help. When will help come.  A harrassed woman in green helped his friend onto the gurney 5 hours ago. Boris asked: when will the doctor be free. No response to give. “Your guess is as good as mine.” She didn’t look up. Gone beyond the swing doors. Left flapping. No water, no food. Nowhere to be. No comfort. No words of solace or gentle hands. No one can help to save his friend. And with his friend goes all the love.

Things haven’t gone well for Boris. He worked hard at school. His parents wanted the best for him as all parents do. He gave up his job and home to look after them. But now they’ve gone. And the house too. All gone on care for them, for their comfort, their aching bones and failing lungs, hearts and memories. Memories of their love, of Boris as a boy. The good old days. While they lived, he still lived in their world. Their loving kindness.

But now he’s out in the cold. A new reality. The big society. 8 years as a carer, 8 years unemployed. Rented accommodation close to the jobs. But there’s no job for Boris. A robot’s got his job. Who’d believe it.

Boris is at the food bank. Ahead of him in the queue, the nurse from A&E.  Just the one nurse.

Boris finds a competition to enter. £10,000 prize. A programme looking for volunteer contestants. The money would clear his rent arrears and a lot of his debts. It’s called: “A Leg Up” It’s very popular with the viewers.

9pm: 19th Floor: Boris’ temporary residence. There’s a fire somewhere downstairs. The whole block is lit up like a roman candle. Boris follows the rules. Rules for his safety. He waits for the firemen. But the firemen can’t come anymore.