Tuesday, May 22, 2012


A dark mood seems to have come over me.

By Mark L. S. Stone

In this dive, Donovan stood out like a sore thumb. Six and a half feet of fat and muscle under tight black skin, packed into a suit.

“Are you sure about this McClowski?"

“I’m sure.” I finished my drink.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he said, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t counting on Budapesht.”

“No one was.” He stood. “You change your mind, let us know.”

I laughed in his face. “You think I’m quitting on a lark, Donovan?”

“Just so you know,” he said, and left.

I waved for another, hoping to get drunk enough to forget.

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