Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Over at Tales From The Alphabet

Just posted this, a further snippet from the longer story.

Small Hands

Small hands, big thighs. That’s what he liked.
‘He’ being Stuart.
The lovable rogue, but only in his mother’s eyes and father’s pub-talk. Hated by most others. An imbecile, according to the graffiti scrawled crazily across the bus shelter up by Maud’s card shop. The gents’ toilets in the Hay & Scythe tell of other names that are not repeatable. Not out loud, in public. I have that on good authority, not having frequented them.
Stuart. A simple man with simple tastes. He likes to strike out, to hit; to offer a beating or two. Especially after a pint of Hamerton’s Ale. Definitely after several pints. Mostly to women. Almost exclusively, as it happens.
Certain types, though. Just those with small hands and big thighs.
Not that it’s an excuse I would offer up.

Read more here.


ginab said...

Gosh, I thought you had had a son here, a bro for m.

simon white said...

No, no bro imminent.