Here's the first page of my short story. Any comments would be nice.
Stoking the Fire
In a filthy bathroom of hell's basement complex, Terence Higginbottom was hacking off clumps of grey beard with a butter knife.
"Oh, it's no use," he said angrily, and tossed the knife in the sink.
He scowled at the cracked mirror. "What I'd do right now for a sharp pair of scissors and a razor." He sighed. "How can I go to the interview looking like this?"
Four days ago he had nosied around the jobcentre and saw a job advertised for Public Relations Officer up in Purgatory. The duties included showing would-be clients a brochure with photos of beautiful people taking drugs, having sex, frolicking in jacuzzis and anything else the client desired. The right candidate had to possess high levels of deceit and Terence had it in abundance.
He picked up the knife and began hacking at his beard again. Then stopped when a plump, stripey cat appeared in the mirror. Trapped between its claws was a joint the length of a dog's leg, or perhaps it was. As the cat dragged on the joint, it's slitty green eyes rotated and glowed in the dim light of the bathroom. It blew smoke towards Terence's face. He pressed his pointed nose against the mirror and tried to hoover up the smoke.
The over-large eyelids of the cat drooped in a sultry manner. "Good morning, Terence," the cat said, meeowing the words. "How are you this fine morning? Well, I hope."
Terence showed it a gap-toothed scowl and jabbed the knife at it.
"Get out of my face, you rabid, flea-bitten sackcloth," he said in his plummy English accent.
"Not any more. Ever since you drop kicked me out the window I've been living in cat heaven. Funny how things turn out, isn't it? I mean if I hadn't walked into your house that day looking for something to eat, I'd probably still be a bony alley cat." In the cat's other paw was a glass filled with Scotch and ice. He pressed it against the mirror. "Beats milk. Bet you'd love some."
