I fear sleep. I fear to end the day unaccomplished. The trap springs shut around me.
You cross the road again, checking just in case of another crazy driver. The dark-skinned Asian man in the kebab shop greets you with a smile, and you give him a crooked smile back. You... you think his name is Tariq? Or is that the name of the guy in the back? You've never asked, but you overheard someone call him that once, you think.
"The usual, my friend?" he asks you in a deep, chocolatey voice. You nod and fish the money out, placing it on the counter. "Have a can as well, my friend. For a regular."
"Thanks," you say. You sit down at one of the cheap plastic and metal tables and read the menu a few times while you wait. Your phone must have fallen out of your jacket when you slung it over the couch earlier. Tariq(?) gives you a call and you pick up your polystyrene case full of kebab and sauce, as well as a can of pop. You sit back down at the table and start working your way through the kebab.
Well, at least the pain in your shoulders has mostly worn off now. The kebab is... a kebab. It could be worse, somehow. You'll need to borrow Tariq's(?) phone to call a locksmith, but at least your evening can't get any worse.
There is a dull bang, then the sound of glass tinkling, then the sound of glass smashing in immediate succession as the flaming, blackened arm of your couch smashes through the window of the kebab shop. Entirely on instinct you shut your eyes and bury your head in your arm; sharp stabs of pain along your arm and across your cheek as glass shards cut you, but mercifully none in your eyes.
a) Your flat just exploded. Run the hell up there and find out what happened.
e) Your flat just exploded! There is glass in your arm! Get Tariq(?) to call the ambulance! And the police!
i) Your flat just... exploded. Go into shock.
o) Your flat just exploded?! Run. Just break into a run. For all you know, someone is trying to kill you.