Over at LITERALLY STORIES, I have a new short story:
‘It was windy, it was cold and it was pissing down with rain. Craig Spark and Carl ‘Robbo’ Robinson sat illuminated by a flickering streetlamp on a graffiti-stained park bench sharing a litre bottle of White Lightning cider. A church bell chimed midnight and a cat screeched. A siren wailed in the distance.
‘They say you used to be able to hire a contract killer there in the fifties,’ said Sparky, shivering.’
Paul D. Brazill 