As he realised with dread that gravity was taking over, he tried to grasp at some kind of handhold, but couldn’t get any purchase and tumbled with a panicked yelp off the huge heap of binbags, expecting to hit the hard floor but instead landing in the total darkness on more bin bags, from which he fell onto more below, and still more, unable to see where they ended or prepare for the moment when he would meet something solid, which not even the bags contained, every one being stuffed full with a squelchy melange of beans, putrid chicken offcuts and amazingly heavily-laden nappies and tampons.
He rampaged his way through Europe, quaffing pilsners, tipping goulash down his gullet, ploughing sweet strange and looking for opportunities to chip bits off old gargoyles. The only gargoyle who really came within reach, though, was alive, female and down a dark alley in the newer part of Dubrovnik, and she was looking for seventy quid. Thirty would’ve been generous. Thanks but no thanks, dragana!