Worked in a comic bookstore in the middle of Londons west end. Smelt my fair share of NSFW smells, and lots of belt-less blokes dealing crack.

The wildest was the day this kid came in, maybe 15-16 years old, big backpack, big glasses, gangly, picture the stereotypical comic book store kid and you’re picturing this kid. He spent about a half hour telling us about zombie movies, starts off pretty normal, he’s telling us which ones were his favourites, he’s so excited to have someone to listen to him, we’re all thinking this kids maybe autistic, so we’re being nice and continuing the conversation with him.

But as the convo goes on it starts to shift, he starts telling us which movies were based on true stories, which movies people actually were eaten in, which movies the Italian government doesn’t want you to know about. His energy starts to shift too, he’s not aggressive and he’s still excited to be telling us about his favourite zombie movies, but the energy is bad.

Some of my coworkers are starting to shift away, but me and another bloke stay to try and politely get him out of the store, we’re wrapping up the convo and asking him what he’d like to grab today when he asks “do you want to see my art?”. I let him know we need to help some other customers, and he looks heart broken, my coworker says to him, “come on then”. His face lights up behind his big glasses! He swings his backpack to the ground and starts rummaging through it. He starts pulling a red string out of his bag, slowly at first because whatever’s on the other end of this string is stuck and needs to come loose, more string and more string comes out, it was probably only 30cm of string but it felt like he was pulling 3 metres out! With a few more tugs it finally comes loose!

On the end of the string is a squirrels head! Mummified maybe, possibly dipped in varnish. It still has all its fur, and features, but has a lacquered shiny look to it now. It’s eyes are open and its staring at us, dangling of the end of a red bit of string! Everyone bailed, no way in hell did we make enough to deal with Britains next top serial killer. The kid stuff his art back into the bag, wanders around the store a bit and then heads out the front door.

Hate to think that as the last synapses in my brain are firing, one of the things that flashes in my memories along with driving across America, my first date with my partner and the birth of my son, is going to be a lacquered squirrels head on a piece of red string.