‘I just need one more month,’ he begs as his sweaty palms stain my mahogany table. The kids need Christmas presents; his wife needs dialysis and blah, blah, blah. You hear it so much at this time of the year that it really means nothing anymore. Not that it ever did really –
Monthly Archives: December 2015
Beyond Regret in Rural Ireland
‘Better be careful wearing something like that, people might think your some sort of queer,’ the bar tender seemed to shudder on the final word. Strange how people seem to think domestic matters are of public importance.
‘I’ve no interest in sex with men, or women for that matter,’ I respond as he hands me my change.
Filed under Fictional Pieces
Scribblings and Broken Glass 