Social Contract Killing
A series of micro-relationships, a fleet of abused cars, a garage full of Sierra Leones, seventy-two deep-fried Mars Bars. The fat, horny, reckless Scottish mercenary was writing out his wish list, when MI5 knocked.
When they said they wanted him to take someone out, they hadn't envisaged six cans of Tennent's Super, a carry out from the chippy, 40 Regal and a social housing scheme in the East End of Glasgow. The effect had been the same: it'd just taken a bit longer that's all.
submitted at 10:36pm
9 May 2009
Phil Doran's web: