I Need a Drink_A winter carol_The Mafia Trial_Through The Mist
Catalog Guide:
I Need a Drink
“I may be a fucking drunk, but I know what I saw,” I say with a slight slur to the bartender, sipping on my fourth or fifth double vodka soda at the bar. “Mick, we talked about this. It would’ve been in the news and more people would be asking questions. Especially, if you’re saying you saw Father Wayne kill that boy. You’re just drunk and seeing shit. Next one’s your last.” The bartender responded in his deep raspy voice, walking to the new couple at the bar. “Listen, Kevin, that boy is dead. I’m telling you, Father Wayne had blood on his hands and that boy’s head was like a rotten Jack-O-Lan...
A winter carol
‘Hi Mark, sorry, just got your message. There was something wrong with my computer. Did you want to talk to me?’ Words didn’t come easily struggling to leave Robert`s dry lips. He quickly ran his tongue over them hoping it didn’t make him look even more nervous. Mark glanced at him – Robert`s tall figure weirdly tip toeing in the doorway - and waved a hand impatientwww.onedoor.ccly asking him in. Mark was on the phone. Robert quietly stepped inside and closed the door behind him trying not to make a sound. Talking to the boss always made him feel uneasy. He found it hard to be on par with all the younger em...
The Mafia Trial
As I rushed through the thick forest I could feel the branches pulling at my shirt and tearing at my skin but I didn’t stop running. At top speed, I knew I could run for a good 20 minutes but I didn’t have only myself to consider.“Kassie, …. can we please…. Stop for …. Just a minute.” I heard Tayler gasp out. She had been trailing along behind me the whole 7 minutes since we had started running. If we continued to constantly stop, we would lose the small lead we had on the others. I knew that Tayler would continue asking to stop the whole time but it didn’t matter we had to keep running...
Through The Mist
Jaunty merriment danced along the crisp night air like autumn leaves of song soaring on the bitter breeze. Across the water in Boston harbour, through the darkened streets and over the roof tops, the sounds of festivity issuing from The Whaler tavern could be heard by all who cared to listen. The ale was cold, the peanuts were fresh and the sport was true. Liam Cleary, Edward Shaw and William Reilly were surprised by the communal roister. Their usual, quiet haunt was overtaken by a throng of locals currently in the throes of celebration. From what the three friends could gather, a fellow South...