Clive and Rowland had been sitting in the kitchen all morning with beer after beer in their hands. Rowland had been the one to go into Lloyd's room that morning, wanting to hear all about his mate's shag, only to find that said friend was dead.
The alcohol had helped dull the shock, but now they were in more or less a fugue state, eyes focused on the bottle labels and minds focused inward.
"Is it possible to be shagged to death?" Clive suddenly asked, seemingly out of the blue.