“’sup?” They looked at each other, neither really sure what to say or how to say it. It had been a long time. The whole house felt strange, certainly stranger than it should. It had been maybe five years since he’d set foot inside. Not the longest time but considering …
The body of the tramp had lain in the cellar of the house on Burgundy Street for several weeks now. He had finally shuffled off the mortal coil less than forty-eight hours after having sought refuge from the chill London winter. A half-empty bottle of cider stood going to waste …
It had been the journey from Hell. Six hours squashed together in the stickily claustrophobic confines of the station wagon, the rain beating an incessant tattoo on the vehicle. A new job, a fresh start, a new beginning – it had been meant to be all of that and more. …
