Slow attack

He woke from a nap. Still drowsy the dark salty air filled his lungs. The plastic chair under his bud was sticky and the caravan smelled like old clothes. How long had he slept? And what was that? He turned on his cell and saw two slugs on the table, fat and brown. Slugs were coming from all sides. Sliming towards the table. Towards the wine. Over the feet of the table. Over his shoes. They seemed to tell each other “Quick get your share before it’s gone.”