In the park toilets Taylor stood by the urinals dwelling on the fact that a full twenty minutes had passed and he hadn’t moved. A few men had come and gone, blokes simply needing the facilities, a quick in and out, hardly sparing him a glance. But why would they? Perhaps Continue reading Scars By Michael Keenaghan
Tag Archives: Michael Keenaghan
Ray Is Dead by Michael Keenaghan
When I got the call that Ray was dead, I was watching TV with my girlfriend of two years, Nicola. I hadn’t spoken to Ray in seven. Nicola had never heard of him.
“So the funeral’s tomorrow,” she said.
“Yeah.” I was still in shock.
Love Hurts by Michael Keenaghan
I got home from work and put down my briefcase. Immediately I sensed something was different.
“Somebody’s been here,” I said to Amy. “In this house – you’ve had someone here.”
She sat flicking through a magazine, the TV on low.
“What?”
“Do You Need a Lift?” by Michael Keenaghan
The best time is when the clubs kick out. Charge what you like. You might get people telling you to shove it, but five minutes later they’re back because the other drivers are Continue reading “Do You Need a Lift?” by Michael Keenaghan
“HARD KNOCKS” by Michael Keenaghan
It was summer and I was going nowhere. I was on the dole and skint.
“I’ve got the perfect solution – the answer to all your problems,” Rob said, as we sat outside the pub, drinks on him.
“No thanks, Rob,” I said, before even asking. Rob’s ventures required the kind of luck I just wasn’t born with. Rob managed to dabble in all sorts, maintaining a jail-free existence, while those around him got banged up like one-two-three. It wasn’t worth it.
Continue reading “HARD KNOCKS” by Michael Keenaghan
The Strap by Michael Keenaghan
The job was a cash ‘n’ carry in Tottenham, big bucks, and originally we were going to bring in Stix and Spida, but they pussied out man, showed their true fucking colours. Not that we were too bothered – I mean, those pricks just weren’t in the same league, and anyway, less cats to share the cream with. We’d do it as a duo and fuck ’em. The job would probably run smoother anyway. Lean and clean. Get in there, get the dough, ride off into the sunset fucking laughing.
Speaking In Tongues By Michael Keenaghan
After the third knock, Amy’s dad bursts out and lunges for me. “What have I told you about coming here?” he says, his hands gripping my jacket. “What have I fucking told you?”
“Look, I just want to know if Amy’s all right.”
“That’s none of your business any more, is it.” He pushes me down the path. “Now piss off, or I’m warning you.”
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