March 8 Lost golf ball led to burnt body

If I move my head more than a couple of inches either left or right it hits the side. My knees are damp and the smell of wet denim fills the space I occupy. Behind me I can hear the biting dogs that deny retreat and ahead I can smell a featherbed of upturned robin redbreasts. I have two maps in my pocket consisting of a few pencil lines which have been rubbed out and altered many times, one is marked ‘Half Nelson’ and the other ‘Front Lawn’. I came upon them by following messages left for me in a series of empty cigarette packets in the Midlands over a period of three months. And now I’m in a ventilation shaft somewhere in a provincial hotel.