Talking Through Your Chin-Box 3.2
Gasping for a hit, Carl made himself a fresh cup of coffee. But big-nosed and bat-eared, when he tried to slam it, the steaming brown liquid dribbled down his chin to piddle over his pink tie and white shirt. His accountant’s uniform. ‘Fuck!’ He’d forgotten the stitch-up already. His lips weren’t even that sore. His … Read more