Brand new story up @ HORROR SLEEZE TRASH.
EXCERPT:
"Now we both know poop, but we wouldn’t be all judge as to drink it. The ceiling fan, the house cat. The hotel had sent a driver to collect me. I knocked back a Pastis before I boarded. The aeroplane flight, in my direction, as if to say, yet, and if it had, it was keeping their eye on me. This previous sentence is paranoia. The handgun would spoil the occasion with a hollow point. The aeroplane jettisoned, came out of the sky, hard, upon something that seemed like a landing-pier. In my new hotel, I had one hand over my right eye, squinting at some sort of mini-hot water system. I stank like a white man, all Anglo.
“Who are those people?” I asked my driver.
“What, they’re the police. These imbeciles!” he snorted.
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the police or to whom they were beating up. Old garments that the Police Chiefs daughters liked to wear tumbled in the drains...."
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