Velvet romance BY NANCY CORBETT
It was a romantic night, a night like black velvet, not the cheap kind of velvet that students tack up over their windows and throw over their shabby couches from Vinnies where it fades in funny greenish stripes and collects dust like you wouldn't believe, but soft and dark and sensual like the expensive kind, the silk velvet, which drapes beautifully and which you can hardly get anymore, certainly not at Spotlight, anyway.
tHE SNITCH BY KAREN GRIBBEN
Macca waded through the muddy river channel, an effervescent aroma clawed up his hairy nostrils, reminiscent of baked beans, the morning after a gin soaked evening with his latest luscious squeeze.
He remembered all too early or maybe it was later in the day, that fishing bruised, bloodied, and bloated bodies out of the water never transformed a dismal day into a rainbow of sunshine.
Macca who was happily morose thought as he dragged his gum booted feet through the mire of putrid fermentation, caused no doubt, by years, of the undiscovered rotting matter of decayed bodies, somehow made the same sucking noise as that sheila from the Towbrige Tavern, the thought actually pulled a laconic smile to the corner of his mouth.
His smile quickly dissolved into the flaccid jowls of a man too long in an undistinguished career. Shoulders slumped he slugged towards his sought after corpse. Wedged between two shopping trolleys was a man in his entire bloated glory, faded polyester shirt cradled his pregnant obesity, where buttons had popped under the gassed fuelled pressure.
He recognised the victim immediately, although victim was a bit of a stretch in regards to Mad Muldoon. A good snitch was Muldoon, a bit of a loss thought Macca; he should have listened more assiduously last month when Muldoon begged for protection. Well no need to cry over spilt swill, it was too late for the stupid bastard now, and he had to think of a way to get the body back to the edge of the channel.
Macca had no intention of touching Muldoon, he grabbed the trolley. He’d push the shit bag to shore if it was solid enough. He rammed the trolley forward. Muldoon started to tremble and went into a death roll. Macca moved in for a closer look, when three long fat eels slithered from under their lunch.
He staggered back nearly falling on his arse in the water ‘for fuck sake,’ he exclaimed, ‘Forensics are going to hate this one.’ The eels swan back to their fleshy dish.
He remembered all too early or maybe it was later in the day, that fishing bruised, bloodied, and bloated bodies out of the water never transformed a dismal day into a rainbow of sunshine.
Macca who was happily morose thought as he dragged his gum booted feet through the mire of putrid fermentation, caused no doubt, by years, of the undiscovered rotting matter of decayed bodies, somehow made the same sucking noise as that sheila from the Towbrige Tavern, the thought actually pulled a laconic smile to the corner of his mouth.
His smile quickly dissolved into the flaccid jowls of a man too long in an undistinguished career. Shoulders slumped he slugged towards his sought after corpse. Wedged between two shopping trolleys was a man in his entire bloated glory, faded polyester shirt cradled his pregnant obesity, where buttons had popped under the gassed fuelled pressure.
He recognised the victim immediately, although victim was a bit of a stretch in regards to Mad Muldoon. A good snitch was Muldoon, a bit of a loss thought Macca; he should have listened more assiduously last month when Muldoon begged for protection. Well no need to cry over spilt swill, it was too late for the stupid bastard now, and he had to think of a way to get the body back to the edge of the channel.
Macca had no intention of touching Muldoon, he grabbed the trolley. He’d push the shit bag to shore if it was solid enough. He rammed the trolley forward. Muldoon started to tremble and went into a death roll. Macca moved in for a closer look, when three long fat eels slithered from under their lunch.
He staggered back nearly falling on his arse in the water ‘for fuck sake,’ he exclaimed, ‘Forensics are going to hate this one.’ The eels swan back to their fleshy dish.
