Trunkbunk

Ah, but I was tired. The excesses of the previous night had left me feeling limper than a wet sock. My tongue was a dessicated, shrivelled stump and yesterday's scotch was doing the highland fling behind my right eye.

What I really needed was tea, sympathy and an hour or so's doze somewhere quiet and dark.

Well tea, I could do. I could also provide pur-lenty self-sympathy. But a snooze? No chance here in the office. The bosses had got wise to the Fast Nap filing cabinets and had them removed.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb my cranial scotsman, I crossed the office, descended the stairs and left the building.

Upon reaching my car I unlocked and opened the boot. The casual observer would have noticed nothing unusual about the design of my boot interior. I pressed the discreet button on the right side panel of the boot and muffled motors began to whirr. A square section of wall flipped to reveal a timer and the floor began to move.

The floor of the boot rose slightly at the left side causing the top panel to suddenly roll itself up to the right like a slap bracelet and reveal it's cushioned underside. Revealed below was an air mattress, now fully inflated and covered with a layer of material as soft as ear-lobes.

I glanced around to make sure I was unobserved and then crawled into the boot space, closing the lid behind me with the handle provided. Sure, it was small in there but it was more than big enough for a catnap.

Sinking gratefully into the plush, pneumatic mattress, I thanked the day I treated myself to a Trunkbunk. I set the timer to 45 mins, switched off the light, settled my throbbing head onto the pillow, curled up and nodded peacefully off, lulled by the murmur of the air conditioning unit.