Crashing

So here it was - the party to mark the beginning of the summer. I guess we'd all brought our own agendas; mine was to get it together with Jo Anderson. But anyone who's anyone knows stuff like that never goes to plan. Friends were rapidly turning into enemies. The local mob of street-thug wannabes had declared virtual war on me. And looming over it all was the spectre of the Zone, the derelict estate haunted by stones, psychos and freaks, calling me back one last time. Now I just needed to get my friends on board . . .