Get Some F**king Lights

Anyway I am off for a bath. Let's hope I don't trip over in the hall with it's lousy 40W bulb.

Will sits shivering in the tepid inches of grey water, the steady drip, drip, drip of the verdigrised taps echo from cracked tile, mould mottled ceiling, dead spider plant, bare boards. He sighs heavily, luxuriantly, as his spare frame slides further beneath the greasy scum lathered from the smart price soap-on-a-rope, a gift from a maiden aunt, long since deceased.
Flashes of amber sigh across the cracked walls, headlights heading for warm homes that are foolishly overheated, recklessly lit, hazardously upholstered.
Will smirks mirthlessly, almost reptilian as he peers across the sluggish surface of the bath towards a punctured plastic duck, listing slightly to port, as he contemplates the fools who allow light into their world with such mad abandon.
"Martha!" he cries. Martha! Bring me a Jacobs! And not one of the fresh ones, mind..."
His ageing acolyte looms into view, dragging her built up shoe behind her, and wordlessly passes him his desired flaccid cracker.
In the stygian gloom, with eyes like glistening saucers, Will gums his meager feast with barely contained glee, savouring the soft stale crumblings and yeasty perfume of the tired treat, whilst mumbling softly to himself, reprimanding errant forumengers, correcting youngsters, negatively repping fools...