I WOKE UP HOLDING THE BAG

I woke up on a sofa that wasn’t mine,

Smelled like cigarettes, regret, and cheap cologne.

Someone’s telly’s on mute showing horses running,

And there’s a bloke staring at me

like I owe him money

or organs.

I check my pockets—

keys, phone,

and something heavy wrapped in plastic.

That’s never a good sign.

Never once in history

has that been a positive morning development.

I think, “Right. Stay calm.”

But everyone else in the room

has already decided not to.

I woke up in the middle of a plan,

Didn’t read the invite, didn’t shake the hand.

Everyone’s shouting names I don’t understand,

And I’m holding the bag like,

“Mate, this wasn’t the plan.”

I just wanted a lie-in and a brew—

Now there’s four guns and a moral issue.

There’s a geezer called Big Tone

who’s not small and not friendly.

A skinny lad called Spider

who’s sweating on furniture.

Someone’s shouting about dogs,

Someone else about money,

Another bloke swearing blind

this was meant to be funny.

I ask, “Sorry—quick one—

what exactly’s going on?”

They all stop and look at me

like I’ve just spoken French.

Then someone goes,

“You’re funny, you.”

Which is terrifying

in that tone.

I’m piecing it together—

cards, cash, cocaine,

something stolen, something sacred,

someone dead by Tuesday.

And I’m thinking,

“Is this how people end up in trouble?

Just… waking up wrong?”

I woke up in the middle of a mess,

Didn’t sign the form, didn’t say yes.

Everyone’s angry, nobody’s blessed,

And I’m nodding like I know the steps.

I’m doing maths I can’t compute,

Trying not to blink, trying not to shoot.

I don’t even like confrontation—

I apologise to chairs when I bump into ’em.

And here’s the mad bit—

everyone else seems ready.

Like this is their destiny,

their big dramatic act.

Me?

I’m just trying to remember

if I fed the cat.

Maybe life’s like this sometimes—

you don’t choose the plot,

you’re just dropped into the climax

and told to improvise.

Someone shouts, “MOVE!”

So I move.

Someone shouts, “WAIT!”

So I wait.

I’ve never felt more British in my life.

I think,

“If I get out of this,

I’m never complaining about meetings again.”

Then I wake up—

proper wake up—

heart racing, sheets tangled,

sunlight judging me through the blinds.

Phone buzzing with a text that just says,

“You alive?”

Which feels… ominous.

I woke up holding the bag in a dream,

Everyone dangerous, everyone mean.

Now I’m safe in my kitchen, toast burning clean,

Still checking my pockets like,

“Where’ve I been?”

If that’s fate, it’s got weird taste—

Drops you in late with no time to prep.

But I made it out with my morals intact

And a strong desire

to stay out of crime.

Anyway—

if anyone needs me,

I’ll be doing absolutely nothing today.

Just in case.