Spike opened his eyes a fraction. This time the afterlife appeared to be brown and smoke-stained. A voice cut through the fug: "Chief, there's some nancy-boy dossing down on your floor."
A somewhat lived-in face hovering above a 1970s-style camel jacket hove into view. "Hoy, sunshine! What the hell do you think you're doing kipping in my station?" it said.
Spike sighed. "I suppose you want to have sex with me," he said.
He never even saw the fist that sent him flying into the next universe.