The two burly men thumped repeatedly on his door, shouting.

Eddie was in his sixties. His face was deeply lined from too much hard living, hair long and straggly. He wore a black, stained T-shirt and jeans. Gyroscope had been a big band in the 1970’s, with a string of number one hits and albums that went platinum. They had toured with famous bands that were still headlining festivals.

Like so many other groups, they fell out with their manager who they claimed had ripped them off. Because how else did Eddie come to be living in a high-rise council flat and claiming benefits? He’d forgotten about the crash fast carts and cocktails of drink and drugs.

They’d come to repossess anything of value in his flat., which  Eddie thought was a joke. There was nothing left. Anything that was small and portable, he’d sold a long time ago. He’d used the cash to feed his addiction. They only piece of furniture in the alt was his white baby grand piano. 

‘How we going to get that thing out of here?’ One of the men asked.

‘Same way I’ve been most of my life – legless,’ said  Eddie.