Tossing the G string to one side Nigel selected a pair of skimpy gold coloured underpants with two eyes, a moulting black Mexican style moustache and a long pink plastic nose sewn onto the front of them. “Tools of the trade,” he explained clutching his...
Lire la suite“Where the hell are you?” I asked him. Four days had drifted wearily past since the babysitting episode, the last three of them I’d been totally alone. The only reason I’d been given for my brother’s sudden absence was a note shoved through my letterbox...
Lire la suiteChapter Two A Job (God help us) “Who are you then?” She asked, a women in early sixties, who would have looked motherly if she hadn’t bee squinting at me, distrust written all over her face. “I’m from…” “There’s a sign on the gate saying ‘No Salesmen’...
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