Marlon just stared. Then he smiled, very slowly. “No problem. Just… next time, call a professional. I know a guy.”
“That’s a drain baby,” Kev said, chewing gum. “Been growing for months. You got kids?”
It was a nightmare collage: congealed fat, a child’s hair scrunchie, a surprisingly intact takeaway menu from Ali’s Kebab House , and what looked like a tangle of wet wipes, despite the packaging’s flushable lie.
Kev unspooled a high-pressure water jet, and the hose shuddered like a living thing. He fed it into the drain. The sound was a deep, pressurized roar, followed by a wet schlurp that made the ground vibrate. Then a cascade of foul water and debris erupted from the outside gully, washing across the concrete. Kev stepped back just in time. “There she goes. The Coventry Mudslide.”